


Not With a Bang, But a Shiver

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha Derek, Alpha Satomi, Alpha Talia Hale, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe- Frozen Wasteland, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Stiles Stilinski, Bottom Derek, Child Injury, Except Cora and Papa Hala, F/F, F/M, Fanart Included, Hale Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lonely Derek, Love Letters, M/M, Married Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Permanent Injury, Peter Hale is a jerk, Phoenix Jordan Parrish, Prior to start of fic, Ritual Drug USe, Ritual Sex (Consensual), Scott Gets Bitten, Shaman Stiles Stilinski, Some wolves can full shift, Soundtrack Linked, Spirit Animals, Spirit World, Sterek Big Bang, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars, Stiles Stilinski Has a Sister, Stiles' mother was Finnish, Stiles' name is NOT Genim, Supernatural Beings are known, Top Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighteen years ago, Earth froze over. You either adapted, or you didn't survive. A group of nomads arrived at the coast, settling at the small shipyard. A lone barge, laden with containers, sat frozen in port.</p><p>They fashioned a functional society at the docks. Survivors came from all over, drawn to the Bear Beacon that burned atop a stack of shipping containers. Everyone did their part to keep it safe. The most skilled went out on the sea ice and sought out seals. The bravest ventured up into the forest to the junction of two frozen rivers. Yet... No one ever crossed that line.</p><p>There were stories of men who wore the skins of wolves and preyed on the weak. A young shaman, however, knew the real story.  Men didn't just wear the skins; they <i>were</i> the wolves. If his people didn't cross into their territory, then they were left alone. Until one day, one pack strayed over the line and attacked first. In a desperate bid to escape, the shaman found he'd stepped over the boundary where he met a young, handsome wolf who had been warned to stay away from humans.</p><p>Neither could stay away from the other, and their romance would set in motion events no one could foresee: The thaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Freeze

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Sterek Big Bang](http://sterek-big-bang.livejournal.com/) 2015 on Livejournal.
> 
> A big thanks to my wonderful beta, [Eva](http://apinkducky.tumblr.com/) who made sure this wasn't a total train wreck. All the love to you.
> 
> The beautiful art for this fic was created by [Romi](http://rplague.tumblr.com/), who volunteered to pinch hit for me so that my fic wouldn't be without art. Thank you so so much. Make sure you visit her blog and show some love. Her art can be found [here](http://rplague.tumblr.com/post/138282046625/for-the-sterek-big-bang-2015-on-livejournal-not)
> 
> Soundtrack can be found here: [X](https://8tracks.com/augopher/not-with-a-bang-but-a-shiver?)
> 
> You can find the translations for the Finnish used in this fic in the notes at the end of each chapter
> 
>  
> 
> _Please do not post on Goodreads or any similar site._

 

 

_TRACK LISTING:_

_“Dance of Death”- Andrew Bird_

 

 

> "The snow would thaw, the rivers begin to run and the world would wake into itself again.
> 
> Not that year.
> 
> Winter hung in there, like an invalid refusing to die. Day after grey day the ice stayed hard; the world remained unfriendly and cold.”
> 
> ― Neil Gaiman, _Odd and the Frost Giants_

 

The end of the world came, not with a bang and not with a whimper either. No, it came with a slow-creeping cold, the kind that gradually found its way into the cracks of the ground, freezing it solid- the same kind that seeped under your skin and sucked away all traces of warmth leaving a permafrost in the marrow of your bones.

At first no one noticed a thing. Just an unseasonably cold summer followed by a disgustingly frigid winter, one that brought so many flu outbreaks, the death toll had to be counted not in hundreds but hundreds of thousands. After that winter, everyone hoped for a long hot summer and a glorious growing season. It didn’t come, and the warmer than usual winter they hoped for didn’t come either.

They blamed it on La Niña, but they were wrong.

Two years turned into three, and soon there was not enough food. Those that had never had enough to eat went first. Without fat reserves, their malnourished and emaciated bodies, incapable of maintaining homeostasis, just could not cope. There had to be worse ways to go than hypothermia.

When world leaders and scientists could find no solutions and there seemed to be no end in sight, desperate people turned to anarchy. Governments fell and civilization crumbled. As if the cold and barren landscape wasn't enough to deal with, humans who had been blissfully unaware, suddenly discovered that a lot of those beings they thought only existed in legends and fairy tales were very much real and no longer concerned with remaining hidden. Competing for resources had a way of removing the need for secrecy.

Some groups stayed segregated, witches with other magical folk, werewolves with other shape shifters, and so on. Still, groups of human and supernatural alike banded together to form new families, clans, prepared to use their combined skills to make it through the unceasing cold together.  They learned a new way of life, for if you didn't adapt, you didn't survive.

Yeah, the end of the world came... with frostbite and a soul-freezing shiver.

 


	2. Last Words Shouldn’t Feel Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene One: “Annabelle Lee”- Sarah Jarosz  
> Scene Two: “When You Break”- Bear’s Den  
> Scene Three: “I Need Some Sleep”- Eeels

 

 

The embers of the funeral pyre hadn't even grown cold, and yet, Stiles crouched down beside them staring at the blackened ashes they'd left behind. The flames had melted the snow beneath them, and he barked out a pained laugh at the harsh irony; the only time any of them got to see bare ground was when someone died. If he allowed his thoughts to go there, he could picture little green sprouts shooting their way up through the soil outside the small sea port they called home.

He knew better though.

The ground beneath every body they returned to the earth, despite the fire, always remained frozen, even in the summer. That was the cruelty of it though. Something that had once given life, sprouting seeds, making the world green, was more bleak than the wasteland above it. They couldn't even bury a body in that permafrost, their small shovels no match for that adamantine ground.

Stiles sucked in a frigid, shuddering breath through the fabric of his scarf, wrapped tightly around his nose and mouth the way it was every day, the way it had been every day for the last eighteen years. He knew that, eventually, there would come a day when he finally forgot the way summer smelled of sea air and Coppertone, the way the hot breeze felt against his skin, the sound of cicadas. He didn't have actual memories before the freeze, just scents and the warmth. With a small chuckle, he thought about how some of their little town had _never_ experienced that. They'd been born in this tundra, this _global_ tundra. He couldn't even remember the last time it had been above freezi- oh wait. Yes, he could. For a week, earlier in the year it had been thirty-five out. They'd all stood outside sans coats for a while. Everyone left their doors open for most of the day that week, letting the fresh air filter into their homes, permeating the motley of materials they'd used to insulate their shipping containers.

It had been glorious.

On the rarest of occasions, the thermometer would creep close to forty, and they’d be graced with near freezing rain. If they were lucky enough to have the rain hit the ground as liquid instead of ice, for the briefest moments, they’d see the ground beneath the snow, smell the rain. The last time that happened though, was two years ago.

Stiles scrubbed a grieving hand down his face as he filled a small metal canister with ashes, using the bone knife from his belt to mark the lid with the name of the deceased: Dad. He could get through this; he would get through. He had to. After all, he, just like the rest of their nomadic found family, had seen more than his share of death in his twenty-one years. Death was inevitable. He knew that. It didn't make it any easier. Though he supposed he'd been grieving the man for nine years.

When Stiles watched the flames return his mother to the Earth, it was like he'd lost both his parents. The loss of his wife had been too great for his dad to overcome, and he'd walked around keeping everyone at arm's' length for over a decade; little flashes of warmth made the way he'd become hardened to the world all the more apparent. That distance, unfortunately, affected his two children. Stiles had been almost thirteen when his mother died, and over the years he'd become self-sufficient, but his poor little sister…

He understood though. Grief was an odd sort of creature. For some people, it made them fall apart, crying non-stop. Others picked themselves up by their bootstraps and dealt with the hands they'd been dealt because they had people to take care of. Still, there were some people- well, grief beat them senseless, knocked them flat on their ass, leaving them frozen on the outside while fighting for the surface and unable to get through the wake it left behind underneath.

His dad had been one of last type of people, and one who became so preoccupied with keeping their little society safe from harm, often to the point of exhaustion. Stiles had _years_ of practice worrying about the man's health.

Just because the man had drawn in on himself in the years since Stiles' mother died, it didn't mean he wasn't feeling this loss just as badly. He supposed it had to be tough for his father to look at his kids and see his wife. Stiles was well aware how much he and Kaisa looked like her. That didn't give their dad a pass on nurturing. Still, it wasn't as though his father turned into a horrible person. No, he was still the strong, sharp-minded, thoughtful man Stiles had known all his life. He just grew hardened to the joys in life. He'd loved his kids; Stiles knew that, but experiencing the emotion of love and showing it were two different things.

And...it wasn't fair. He'd needed his dad after his mom died, finally succumbing to the complications she'd developed during labor with his sister two days earlier. It wasn't just that he'd lost a parent, but he'd been left floundering trying to figure out what he was and his place in their fucked-up and frozen world of both human and the supernatural. He'd only been working with his mother on it for a year.

She'd been like him, supernatural but not quite the same kind. When he was younger, perhaps about the same age his sister was now, he happened to catch a glance of his mother's nightly form. Though, in any other world but the one in which he'd been raised, seeing her looking more wolf than woman would have terrified him; it didn't, though. They had a werewolf on their council of elders. He had looked on at his mother in awe, not fear.

So he'd asked his mother and had found his eyes opened to a world he'd only before had glimpses of. She'd told him tales of ancient ceremonies performed by women in the lands nearby where she'd grown up, ceremonies that made childbirth painless, but in return, at night, women became wolves. When he'd asked why she'd done this if there were hospitals and medicines for pain, she'd simply said she'd been afraid. He never questioned that fear; it was one he would never know, so he shrugged it off. But then…

She'd told him that her ritual was a lasting legacy, and he first heard the word _henkimaailma_ , learned of the secrets of the spirit world. He would be a shaman, šamaani as she'd called it. He would learn to heal the soul and visit the spirit world, even go into a trance to search the supernatural for answers, find omens, and view the future. As a child he didn't understand. Though, the more they worked--for it seemed the ritual had given his mother the knowledge to guide him--the more he felt right, centered. He had magic and could commune with or channel spirits, and that to his twelve year old self was fucking awesome.

Later, when she'd become pregnant with his sister, he'd asked her if she needed to go through the ritual again. His mother had believed with every breath that she'd be protected.

She'd been wrong.

As he slid his hands back into his mittens, hot tears welled up in his eyes, freezing to his skin as they rolled down his cheeks. He dashed them away with his fingers. Blood, there had been so much blood. At thirteen, he didn't know everything there was to know, but he knew enough about childbirth to know-

He swallowed hard and tried to forget how he had ran, with Kaisa's tiny, and starving, three-day-old body swaddled in blankets against his chest, to find Mrs. Collins who lived in container 46…

 

... _Stiles scrambled up the steps of the access stairs that led to the second level of containers in row E. With one hand, his fingers numb against the railing, he clung tightly as he pulled himself frantically towards the narrow catwalks they'd built to serve as bridges and walkways for anyone living above the ground floor._

In his other arm, he held precious cargo.

All around him, the wind whipped and howled, threatening to paralyze his body already trembling from the cold and fear. Even though he could hardly hear himself think, Kaisa's hungry wailing carried, cutting through the noise of the storm. In a daze since he'd held his mother's hand while she passed, he somehow found the courage and mental fortitude to remember Mrs. Collins had a four month old son. She would be his only chance.

In an uncoordinated dash, Stiles clambered to the end of the aisle where he pounded on the container door. "Mrs. C! Mrs. C, please open up!" He didn't even know if anyone inside could hear him, but he kept smacking his fist on that metal door, striking it so hard he broke the skin on his hand. Blood came to the surface, blood that would soon freeze to his skin. That creaking noise was music to his ears.

"Stiles? What's-"

"Can you help me?" His voice sounded so small, so broken, that it didn't even sound like it belonged to him. When she ushered him inside, all he could do was hand his sister to her. His eyes, nearly frozen shut with icy tears, couldn't even meet hers. "My mother died."

"Oh, Sweetie. I'm so sorry."

_"Can...you feed my sister, please? I don't know what else to do. She can't die, too."..._

 

Last night, Stiles had held Kaisa's hand as he lit the pyre. Hell, he'd lit the flame for everyone they'd lost since he was fifteen, offered up an ancient song of magic to guide each soul to the spirit world to await judgment. That didn't make it easier either. Of all the ways the cold could kill--exposure, crack in the ice, hypothermia--it had to be something as pedestrian as a heart attack while standing the night watch that stole his father.

Stiles sighed, screwing the the lid on tight. Every time he closed his eyes he saw those flames. He watched the sea again, focus tunneling in on some non-descript point on the horizon, only snapping out of his daze when he heard footsteps crunching through the snow as they came towards him. He turned, giving a curt nod to his company when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I thought I'd find you out here," Allison said.

Stiles took in her appearance: tattered orange North Face parka, seal skin mittens holding onto a travel mug, the same snow pants she'd had for years, and her boots, those were... "New shoes?"

Sliding her goggles to rest atop her head, she looked down at her feet at the rubber snow boots upon them. "Yeah. Danny found them on their search trip last week. They're too big, but they're warm." What used to be the nearest city was a day’s visit away, and though the city was mostly deserted with only a few residents holding out in their primitive homesteads, the abandoned houses provided the array of materials. Hell, the greenhouse roof had been built from windows taken from houses. A group of five, outfitted with the supply sleds his father and a couple other residents in town made from pallets, brought back enough glass panes in one trip to construct the roof in one go. Another search brought back doors to make tables out of. Blankets and mattresses left behind made life more comfortable. Half the clothes the residents wore came from searches of otherwise empty homes. The best part of the trips was that it did not require using the truck, so they could scavenge more often. Someone made the trek at least once a week, sometimes more.

She pointed her mug in his direction. "You want some?"

"Depends," he said, stowing the little metal container in the leather game bag at his hip, "on what that is. If it's that dill tea again, I'm gonna pass." He cringed, recalling the way it burned his throat. "That stuff should only be for medicinal purposes."

"Thyme."

Stiles reached out and grabbed the proffered cup from her, enjoying a nice long sip, the hot liquid warming his throat. "Thank you. So," he gestured to the seemingly endless expanse of ice before them, "you going out there today?"

Allison jangled the pair of crampons in her left hand. "Yep."

Stiles' eyes lit up at the sight. "Whoa! Where'd you get those? They look almost brand new." He reached out and tapped his finger on one of the spikes. "Those are going to keep you from falling down for sure."

"They came attached to the boots."

"I'm jealous. All I have are homemade snowshoes. I'm shit on ice. Make sure you catch us some seals today."

"We're going after the herd of caribou Lydia saw this morning. I woke up to a cold bed and found her standing on the catwalk with the spyglass she made. Says the herd's a pretty good size."

Stiles smiled. Allison and her girlfriend, Lydia lived in container 22, which had an unimpeded view of the frozen sea. "That's good too. Be careful, yeah?"

She gave him a playful shove. "Always am. What about you, going into the woods?"

"I don't know. If I do, I think I'll try a slightly different route." He shrugged, "See how I feel after breakfast."

"You haven't eaten yet?" Allison gave him a long hard look. "Did you even sleep last night?" She offered another drink of her tea.

"No." Stiles tapped his fingers against the mug. Through his thick mittens, he could barely feel its warmth.

"I tried. You know, after everyone returned to their homes, I just lay there staring up at the ceiling in the dark. I forgot to pick up more oil for my lamp, so I was bored out of my mind. I just..." He took a deep breath, "Came out here to watch the embers burn. Felt like the right thing to do."

Allison took back her mug and gave his hand a good squeeze. "It's got to get easier."

"How could I let _that_ be the last thing I said to him?"

"Don't beat yourself up too badly. You were just upset. I'm sure he knew you loved him."

Stiles nodded. He sure hoped so.

  


*******

 

Stiles fondled the handful of chips in his coat pocket as he ambled through the market. Overhead, the motley of tarpaulins, blankets, and plywood planks functioned like a roof, keeping the stalls and people below dry. They also kept their little bazaar a bit warmer. He mentally ran through his list before ducking container 61 which served as the textile and tailor shop. Mr and Mrs. Bhardwaj lived upstairs from the "business" they ran. That was the way with most of the vendors. The shop was in the containers on the first two levels and stairs that led to the third container disappeared up into holes they'd cut into the floor. Even he lived above his shop, which served the town in mystical services. Spiritual services were left to the chapel across the aisle from him. Or they had been until about six months ago when Abraham, the town's rabbi succumbed to what Melissa suspected was pancreatic cancer.

Stiles smiled as he remembered the man. Abe, he'd been a good guy, had collected religious texts of all kinds before he found Beacon Hills. He'd pulled tenets from each tome that he felt would serve the town best, and from that formed a new faith. Stiles didn't know much about religion from before, just what he could remember from his father's stories and how wars had been fought over it. He didn't understand how something like what Abe had preached with could ever be bad. The old rabbi had spoken above love and forgiveness, treating people with the respect you would like to receive, helping, compassion.

He'd tried, to lead services when Abe passed, but he was not as learned, and floundered. Still, townspeople seemed to understand, and even when he stated that he could not be the leader they wanted, they stepped up to fill the space. Their town...it worked like that.

"Hi, Mrs. Bhardwaj."

"Good Morning, Stiles." She gave him a warm smile, the corners of her eyes forming little creases all the way to her graying temples, a stark contrast to her dark locks and skin the color of rich clay. Though she was older, Stiles was sure, that in her younger days, Geeta Bhardwaj had to have been considered a great beauty. Age may have added wrinkles, but it could not hide the loveliness of her. There was something about her smile that was always welcoming to him. "What brings you in?"

He pulled the pair of children sized snow boots from his bag and set them on the table, which was merely an old door sitting atop two sawhorses. "Do you have the next size up?"

She looked through her stock of shoes, each pair hanging from a peg on the wall. "No, I'm sorry I don't. The next size is four sizes bigger. I can mark you down for the first pair I get when someone trades theirs back in. She could wear the old ones in the meantime."

With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead. "No. We used these as long as possible. They're hurting her feet now. Do you have any soles?"

Nothing was thrown out. If a pair of shoes became too worn, too broken down to wear any longer, they were deconstructed with the leather, soles, laces and any other usable part going into the supplies.

She grabbed a set from a pillowcase and handed them to him. "That's the smallest I have, but you could cut them down to fit. Do you need leather or fur? Maneesh has some lovely caribou hide."

"No, I kept the pelt of both the fox and rabbit I caught last week."

Though they operated on a combination of a barter system and rations, if you were the one to make the kill, you got first choice of meat and the option to keep the pelt for one token or sell it to the tanner. The tokens were something his dad had called poker chips and came from the landfill several in the town visited a few times a year. Stiles remembered the day the truck had come back, and Melissa--his best friend, Scott's mother-- tossed the large bag out of the bed of the truck, the sack hitting the permafrost with a clatter. His ten-year-old hands dug through the mass of colorful round plastic with glee. Anytime something colorful came into town, the citizens just seemed a little happier. The day the group returned with a case of crayons and several reams of paper, the children in town actually cried. He'd been one of them.

One of the containers when they'd first arrived had several drums of propane. The one vehicle left at the dock happened to run on the stuff, and it had been a lifesaver. He suspected when the big storm happened after the global freeze, those that came into the docks searching for supplies had taken one look at the truck, determined it was of no use and their small supply of gasoline and then abandoned it. Lucky break for them.

Every trip produced invaluable building supplies, clothing, the things they could not make on their own. As a result, the container with the propane was the second most heavily guarded container in town. What was the most secure? The apothecary.

"I _would_ take a spool each of yarn and leather lace if you have them."

She grabbed the threads and placed them in front of him. When he pulled out his tokens to hand over a pink one, she waved him off.

"No charge today. In fact, your trade is a bit uneven. Want to grab an item of clothing?"

His eyes scanned the room and settled on a colorful winter hat. With its vibrant yellow color and pink polka dots, the thing practically had Kaisa's name on it. "Yeah, I'll take this."

She smiled. "You're a really good big brother. I hope you know that."

"Thanks Mrs. B." He left before he could correct her sentiments. He wasn't just Kaisa's brother. He'd pretty much been the one to raise her after his mother died. While his dad struggled to move on, throwing himself into his self-appointed tasks, Stiles made sure she got fed, even after graduating from milk to solid food. He bathed her, kept her safe, was there for everything both of his parents missed.

His face scrunched up into a pained expression as he realized they would miss everything now.

He paused just outside the shop, doubling over to take several deep breaths to work through his grief. He was bitter and sad sure, but more than that. The overwhelming emotion plaguing him was one of guilt. His last moments with his dad weighed heavily on his mind...

 

_...Stiles adjusted Kaisa's snowshoes in the home her and his dad shared with Melissa, Scott and his wife, Kira, and their young son, Kenji. Two years before, container 71 opened up when its resident finally succumbed to old age. Scott and Kira had been offered it first, as was customary for newly married couples, but they'd declined, simply stating that they'd rather live in the double container they shared with his mom and Stiles' family. He and Scott had grown up on opposite sides of the same shipping container wall until they were about eight when Melissa and his mom figured out that both containers had side walls that opened. Ever since then, both families had lived as one._

However, when Stiles turned sixteen, he was given container 66, right around the corner from his family. After he first traveled to the other world, opening up his power to commune with the spirits, the town decided he needed his own space in which to work. Stairs were installed and he lived above his lodge. Keeper of the  Beacon, Protector of the Dead they called him.

"How many layers do you have on today, hiiroseni?" He double checked the zipper on her too-big parka.

With the hood up, the fur trim obscured most of her face. Like this, she looked even smaller than she already was. Stiles sighed, knowing the fact she was smaller than most of the other kids was a direct result of her first rough six months. After all, though Mrs. Collins fed Kaisa, her son was her first priority. Kaisa got whatever was left. Melissa said his sister would likely be smaller her whole life.

Kaisa rolled her eyes. "Plenty. You ask me that every day. I'm not a baby."

"I know you're not. You're the best pine cone finder I know."

Her eyes lit up. "I am?"

"Absolutely. You ready?"

"Yep," she grinned, with a hint of the space where her bottom canine tooth had fallen out the week before peeking through.

Stiles patted her on the shoulder. "Why don't you go check and make sure the dogs are finished eating for me while I finish getting ready." As she skipped out the door to check on the four dogs they'd raised from pups after their dad found their pregnant mother barely alive in Eureka. Now that they were fully grown, they were perfect for pulling a sled. Malamutes, one of the towns people had called them. Apparently, they were perfectly suited for cold weather. Though their double coat was a pain in the ass to take care of.

"You know, she's not really old enough to take on these trips into the forest."

Stiles looked up from where he sat, tightening up his mukluks, to find his dad standing near the door with his arms crossed, disappointment set into his features. "What? I've taken her out with me plenty of times. She's really helpful."

"All the same. She's too young. The woods are dangerous, and she's very small."

Stiles fought his eye roll. "Dad, I'm teaching her to be resourceful. Training her in a skill that will serve her well when she's older. If she's going to be littler than everyone else, at least she'll be the best at something."

"All the same. I'm her father, and I don't think you should take her with you anymore."

Stiles sighed and rubbed his brow. "Fine then, Dad. You get to be the one to tell her that she can't go because you still think she's a baby or that I'm not capable of keeping her safe." When his father opened his mouth to protest, Stiles stopped him, "You can't forbid her from going and then expect me to be the one to break the news. You don't get to have it both ways."

"Telling me how to raise her now? Last time I checked, Stiles, I was the parent, not you. You're her brother. I'm the dad, you're-"

Stiles' cackle stopped anything else his father might have said. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I know what-"

"Know? You don't know _anything_ about her."

His father pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh now that's an over-exaggeration."

Stiles brows furrowed into a scowl. "What's her favorite color?"

"That isn't important. I'm talking about the vital stuff."

"It's yellow. Want to dig deeper? What's her biggest fear?" He waited for an answer, and when his father couldn't give him one, he snapped. "Falling through the ice! And if we want to go really far back...what was her first word?"

"Dada."

"Lucky guess...but who did she say it to?" He jabbed his thumb into his sternum. "Me. That's what happens when you check out and spend more time out of the house than in it, leaving the role of primary caretaker of a newborn to a thirteen year old boy! You may have helped make her, but that doesn't make you her dad. You want that role, you get everything: discipline, holding her when she's scared, taking care of her when she's sick. When she sneaks out and comes to my container at night, **you** get to come take her home!"

"Stiles, you're not being fair."

 _He chuckled. "Me? Unfair is exactly what_ **_you're_ ** _being right now, ten years into her life finally starting to be involved after I did all the hard stuff. Did you wonder where we went when she woke up in the middle of the night? No matter how tired I was, how miserable conditions were...I had to find a way to get her fed. Walking, reading...potty training! All of that was me. You wanna talk about fairness? I've been parenting her since she was three days old, and the only reason Kaisa doesn't call_ **_me_ ** _'Dad' is because I told her not to." Stiles turned on his heel and stormed out..._

 

He slid down to the snowy deck and buried his head in his knees. As long as he lived, he would never forget the look on his father's face as he left.

 

*******

 

Stiles sat down by the stove, taking off his mittens. He flexed his fingers trying to get the blood flowing again. As he watched the flames through the grate,  Melissa sat a chipped ceramic mug down on top. Stiles chuckled at the text on the cup. He'd never had coffee, so he wasn't sure why it was never too late for the stuff. The first sip of liquid brought relief, even if it was a bit sour. "Bearberries?"

With a nod, she smiled and pulled a crate over to sit beside him. "How are you holding up?"

"You want the honest answer?" he asked, pulling the supplies from his bag.

"Of course. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

He lay out the two fur pelts on the floor before measuring and slicing them into smaller pieces of a pattern.

"I broke down outside the Soaper. I... I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be an orphan. I know things were strained between us. I... I knew what to say that would hurt the most, and I went for the kill. But," his lip quivered, "I miss my dad. And I keep thinking...if he already had a bad heart, were my words what stressed it to the breaking point?"

She took his hand. "Just remember that I'm here for you anytime, and don't think that you need to move Kaisa to your place just because your dad's gone. If she wants to stay here, she's more than welcome to. It's her home too."

Almost as if on cue, Kaisa shuffled into the living area out from behind the curtain which sectioned off her "room," her blonde hair askew; her hair color seemed to be the only thing she'd inherited from their dad. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Good morning, Auntie Melissa."

Melissa stood and scooped some food from the pot on the stove into a bowl. "Good morning, Sweetie."

Kaisa sniffed her breakfast, and seemingly finding it satisfactory, plopped down onto a floor cushion where she dug in. It took her a few moments to notice her brother sitting by the stove. "Whatcha making?" she asked, her mouth full of amaranth.

Stiles tugged on one end of the leather lace with his teeth to tighten it. "New shoes," he said through clenched teeth, ignoring her groan of protest. "Which would you prefer? Your old boots that hurt your feet or new ones that fit." She grumbled something under her breath, which did not quite make it to his ears. "I'm sorry. What was that, Hiironen?"

"Ones that fit."

"That's what I thought. Besides, what's wrong with the stuff I make you? My mukluks have lasted longer than any pair of the 'real' boots you like so much."

"They look weird."

He paused, trying to see things from her perspective. He supposed the handmade shoes were not as colorful. Maybe she just wanted something pretty. "Hey Mel?"

"What is it?" she asked, trying to feed her grandson his breakfast. 'Trying' being the operative word. "No, no, no. You are supposed to eat your food, Kenny, not wear it." She scraped his chin with the spoon and tried again, only to watch the eleven month old push the warm cereal back out of his mouth. "I'm sorry if you don't like it. This is all you get."

Stiles smiled. Babies were a big deal in town, and even though nights were cold (and well...there's only so much you can do to stay warm) babies didn't happen as often as one might think. One of their town leaders, Marin Morrell, or just Morrell as everyone called her, came from a long line of druids and witches. Before the freeze, she'd been a successful herbologist. She knew exactly which plants to use to both prevent and to end unwanted pregnancies. Was it always perfect? No. Was it a glamorous job? No, but childbirth was dangerous. He need look no further than his mother for proof of that.

That being said, he was happy for Scott when he'd told him Kira was expecting. He'd been over the moon when Scott told him they wanted to get married. Hell, he'd performed the ceremony himself, and of the dozen marriages he'd officiated at over the years, that one was his favorite. He blinked to shake himself out of his thoughts. "Do you have any ribbon?" He watched as she dug through their small box of notions, the one she kept stocked as best she could for clothing repair.

She placed roll of grosgrain ribbon, about an inch wide into his palm. "Will this do?"

With a smile, he nodded. "Yes. Thank you." When he tried to hand her a token for an extra load of laundry, she waved him off.

"Stiles, you don't need to do that."

He worried the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth. How could explain that this was something he had to do without sounding ungrateful? Settling for no words, he looked her straight in the eye, and handed the poker chip to her again. "Please, just take this."

"Something you feel you have to do?" When he nodded, she placed it back in his hand and curled his fingers around the token. "How about this? When you go on your search tomorrow, bring me something back. Is that a fair trade?”

"Yeah," he said, licking his lips in resignation. Almost an hour later, he put the finishing stitches on Kaisa's boots. "Hey," he said, tapping her on the foot where she lay asleep, curled up in front of the stove, "will you try these on for me?"

Kaisa sat up, her fists rubbing at her eyes. She stretched out her feet, and watched as her brother tugged the shoes onto her feet, tightening the lace at the top before wrapping it tightly around the middle of the boot. He secured in it place, and staring at her new shoes for quite some time nodded. "They feel nice. The fur is very soft." Her small fingers ran over the varying shades of silver, white and black. Along the tops, Stiles had woven the green ribbon Melissa had given him. He heard the sharp intake of breath as she noticed it.

His sister, much like himself, had been blessed (or cursed. It really depended on who you asked) with his biting wit. So he'd been expecting a sarcastic comment about how they were ugly and she hated them, all while walking around the room proud as could be. Instead, he found himself blindsided when she crushed him in a hug.

"I love them," she whispered, and he could hear the tinge of tears in her voice. "Thank you."

Stiles rubbed the back of her head. "You're welcome. You know I'd do anything for you, right?" She nodded into his shoulder, and when he shifted on the floor cushion upon which he sat, she climbed into his lap, fingers curled into the cowl of his sweater. "You're very important to me, always have been, more than anyone else. I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

"I know." Kaisa looked up at him, her brown eyes red-rimmed and still sleepy. Once, on one of his treks into the woods, he stopped and took refuge inside an abandoned house so he could eat his lunch. Hanging upon the wall, was a large decorative sun. It had been crafted from metal, and he remembered being immediately struck by its beauty, not quite being able to figure out why. When he'd left, venturing on into the forest, thoughts about the piece of art stuck in his mind. So much so, that upon his return trip, he stopped and removed the piece from the wall. It now hung near his stove and had this way of reflecting light throughout his apartment. It sure made the lack of a window feel less bleak. It wasn't until he got it home and showed it to Kaisa that he realized why he'd liked it so much.

Its polished copper surface was almost exactly the same color of her eyes. The only thing it was missing was the burnished brass marbling that danced around her irises.

"Hey, what do you think about coming to live with me? You don't have to if you don't want, but-"

She held on tighter. "I'd like that."

Stiles took a deep breath. "I'll have Scott help me carry your bed over later. I want you to help me make your room. Tuu, mennään kotiin."

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINNISH USED IN CHAPTER:
> 
> henkimaailma-spirit world  
> hiiroseni- my little mouse  
> Tuu, mennään kotiin- come on, let's go home
> 
> Now, I studied Finnish in college, but we did not focus a ton on colloquial Finnish. I have done my best with that. Let me know if I made any egregious errors.


	3. This Feels Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> “Even Dead Things Feel Your Love”- Petter Carlsen

 

 

The fur around his snout and eyes crisp with refrozen snow, Derek sat on his haunches looking down at the small port, longing to disappear among those containers and never return. Often, late on those long nights, the really cold ones, he would shift in the darkness of the small space he shared with his sisters and flee the safety of their compound in the dark. He'd been caught a few times and had always managed to chalk it up to making a perimeter run. Though he suspected his mother did not really care where he went or what might have happened to him. There was a time when she used to.

Not anymore.

He gave up his post, where he'd sat up on the hill, a silent sentinel keeping vigil on the town below and began to tread down the slope. By now, he knew where their watchmen stood, when they made rounds, and could slip onto that ship unnoticed. He meant them no harm, and if captured, he reasoned he could shift and show them he was just curious.

He also suspected the guards knew he came into town, recognized him after all these years. After all, it wasn't as though tonight was the first time he'd felt so bold. 

His paws made silent tracks on the new snow, and he leaped from the dock onto the barge, skidding as he hit the deck. After a tumble and a graceful roll, he came to a stop and shook the snow from his ebony fur. With more falling from the sky, fresh snow would soon cover any evidence he'd ever been here.

Though he'd never spoken a word to anyone in this town (he never understood why they called it that. It was more like a camp), Derek felt as though he knew them, could picture them as they went about their day to day lives. They were so much more free than he was.

He bit back a whine. His teenage stupidity had cost the whole pack. That lack of freedom was his fault. He should have been stronger, been more able to resist, should have been smart enough to know she had no business being interested in him; she was too old and…Part of the reason he spent so much time in his wolf form was the simple fact that he couldn't cry like this. 

He'd been too weak and it cost some of his pack their lives.

His father's death hit his mother hard, the way losing a mate always did with his kind. Her soft edges became rigid, inflexible. She was a resolute force, a general. That hardness cemented when he, still green at fifteen, miraculously took down a feral alpha with a lucky strike. It had been nothing spectacular, but he'd been too late, unable to protect his baby sister from the wolf that hunters, the ones led by  _ her _ , released into their territory. Just the thought of her filled his mind, his body with revulsion so strong, he had to fight the urge to throw up the bile in his throat. One night, one mistake, and he'd ruined everything.

And _she'd_  ruined him. 

With a hard shake of his head, ice crystals broke loose of the fur on his muzzle. He walked down the end of Aisle B. There were two people whose names he recognized when he first came to visit, Allison, they called her. Derek remembered her as a dark haired girl about eleven years old, one with dimpled cheeks, who clung to her father's hand when Derek watched  _ Her, _ Kate, sink that wolfsbane coated blade into his father's chest. He watched Allison flinch and tremble at the sight, watched her retch into the snow. 

She'd come to this town with Chris, her father, after her mother was bitten by a werewolf. Hunter tradition meant that Allison, too, had lost a parent. To be a hunter and also be a wolf was a thing never allowed. That night, he'd watched Allison arrive, her arm wrapped tightly around the shoulders of a sobbing red-haired girl about her age. The Banshee. Derek could smell the way the dead called out to her. Over the next weeks, he learned how the Banshee had screamed for Allison's mother, revealing herself to the hunters. Chris had fled their town with the two teen girls. It seemed that some hunters actually had a semblance of morals. 

Allison and her Banshee, lived in number 22. Her father lived above the armory in container 54. There was a young man Allison and the Banshee had asked to help them become parents. He was the tinker, the toymaker. He could smell the elderly alpha, who'd long since lost her pack, from her home on the bottom level in Aisle E. The alpha, the druid in 67, the Kitsune in 47, and the nurse in 70 ran the town, or at the very least served as elders. A matriarchy. Just like his pack and just like hunters.

He padded down the deck and raised up on his hind legs, dark paws propped up against the metal, to stare in a window on container 87. He’d suspected from the steeply pitched roofs made from dozens of mismatched windows and translucent fiberglass panels--no doubt salvaged from abandoned homes and buildings-- and held together by a mix of materials, that the building was the greenhouse. Upon closer look, he saw long two by fours, painted in various shades, traversing the roof to support the windows that had been nailed to them. Any space not covered by glass had been covered with plastic sheeting and grey tape to seal off drafts.

Though the light of dusk was dim, Derek could see inside clearly enough to marvel at the simple beauty of it. Four large containers sat touching with their inner walls removed. Derek wondered how the town had been able to cut through the thick and corrugated metal walls, wondered if they'd used a tool or maybe even magic. On top of those four, another four were stacked and given the same treatment, the ceiling cut away. 

Rows and rows of planter boxes sat upon tables arranged in neat rows. The corner had several fruit trees, and still other plants Derek didn’t know, vined ones draped around the second level. Some potted plants even hung from chains looped around rafters. In the far corner, sat two large, blue tanks. From his place outside, he could not tell what they contained, and he always wondered. He doubted looking inside now would give any insight.

So he pressed on, to the one place above all others in this town, that Derek felt he knew best.

Number 66 sat below the Bear Beacon, and inside that home lived a young man, the one with the peculiar name who sometimes spoke in a tongue Derek had never heard before. That one,  _ him _ , he was Derek's favorite. The paint on the container below 66 read 'Mystical Services', and Derek longed to know first hand what kind of magic the young man had thrumming through his body. And he was magic, Derek was sure of it. Even though he'd never seen his face, never been close enough to make out features behind that scarf he kept tightly wrapped around his face to shield him from the cold, his scent permeated through the thick metal doors. Derek could smell it.

The barest hint of ozone sat on the top, the head note of that heavenly aroma. This was the smell of magic. The man smelled of bone and ash; the subtle ferric tang of blood lay just underneath. Blood magic, old magic, the kind someone had to be born with. His heart notes smelled of spice and smoke and fire. Yet, the longer Derek sat outside that door, the more the aroma changed, the way a perfume did after many hours on the skin. Underneath everything, the very essence, the base of that young man's scent was like nothing Derek had ever known. He smelled of fear but also of duty and the unknown.  He smelled of ancestry, of thousands of other lives and they way they left hints on the skin. Most of all, he smelled of love, the kind Derek longed to know the touch of, to once again feel important to someone else.

His family surely still loved him or at the very least still cared, but it wasn't the same, not anymore. Some of that affection had been burned away the night the pack lost his father and his sister.

As he had done so many nights before, Derek let his paws carry him up the steps to Level 3 of Aisle G, where once more he spent the rest of the night curled up into a ball outside number 66. Then, as the sun began to fill the horizon with pink and yellow hues, Derek would rise and drag himself back to his territory and the place that hadn't felt like home in years.

  
  



	4. Into the Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene 1: “Boy From the North”- Monica Heldal  
> Scene 2: “Immigrant Song”- Led Zeppelin

 

"Anything?" Scott called from the foot of the retractable stairs. "I'm hungry; Kaisa's hungry.  _ You _ have got to be hungry by now." A black trash bag fell at his feet. "What's in this?"

Stiles' muffled voice carried down from the attic, "Clothes I think. If you guys are hungry, build a little fire and start cooking. Just give me a second. I'll be fine."

Scott rolled his eyes, and picking up the bag, carried it into the living room where Kaisa sat smashing pine cones against the lid of their cast iron Dutch oven. To her left, a pile of (he assumed) already harvested cones lay in a heap on the floor right next to the canvas sack of dried needles she'd collected. She was a favorite of the Bhardwaj's. They'd been able to stuff so many beds from all the needles Kaisa brought back. Not everyone was lucky to get a real mattress, only adults were that fortunate. He and Stiles had shared the same pine needle mattress from the time they were seven until he and Kira got married. It was hard to imagine something so sharp at one end could ever be soft enough to sleep on.

"Do you need help?"

With a crack, Kaisa brought another pine cone down hard onto the pot. "Nope." She turned it upside down and shook it, frowning when no seeds came loose. It was a rare event when she did manage to find a cone that still had seeds, but it wasn't like the cones were useless. He'd long since learned how valuable they were. Every trip they made produced at least a small bag of them. Mr. Jimenez made all their oil, rendered the fat from their hunts, and he also provided other fuel. Pine cones, the man had said, make great firestarters. Just a dip in oil or wax and you were set.

He sat down next to her and began to go through the bag.

"So," Stiles said coming into the room carrying a couple of large afghans, "I think this was a successful stop."

Scott nodded. Each search team had their own area for which they were responsible. It kept people from scavenging the same areas over and over. A map of the area hung on the wall of container 52, the school, with zones marked out in different colors. Their team, which occasionally included Kira as well, was in charge of the purple zone. Because they had the team of dogs, they could go farther up the hills. It was an exhausting route, but often rewarding. They almost never came home without a fresh kill, usually rabbits. He reached out and petted Lumi's head, making sure to rub patch of snow white fur between her ears.

Two of the four dogs, Lumi and Tonttu lived with them. The other two, Tähti and Sisu lived with Stiles. They were almost five years old now, and he remembered how much trouble it had been teaching them to pull the crudely made sled Stiles and his father had crafted. God, it took forever. Though, in the end, all that work had paid off. They could bring back so much more, which often included an entire caribou. If only all four dogs weren't female. Then they could breed them.

Lumi though, curled up at his feet every night, she was his favorite. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Stiles drag the table from the kitchen to the living room where they sat, and then draped the blankets over the top. Scott knew what he was doing; he was building a nest. After he laid out their bedrolls underneath, he stood and dusted his hands, declaring their camp ready for the night.

Momentary distractions over, Scott continued to dig through the bag, taking stock. It seemed to be mostly warm weather clothes, not all that useful alone, but when layered, perfectly acceptable.

"Hey, toss me a couple of those pine cones, Hiironen." After almost breaking his neck trying to catch the poorly lobbed cones, Stiles pulled a couple pieces of wood and his flint striker from their sled. 

This house was a blessing, Scott reasoned. Not every house had a fireplace. Often, on the first leg of their trips, they had to build their cooking fires outside whichever home they took refuge for the night. This home, in particular, they'd passed a few times but never gone in. Up until recently, snow had drifted up so high, that going inside would have been a waste with almost the entire window blocked. Yet, a harsh windstorm two weeks ago, one like Scott had never known, had cleared most of the drifts away.

After their nearly frozen meal of rabbit and leeks had sufficiently cooked in the melted snow and spice mixture Stiles brought along, they had their fill. The dogs feasted on chunks of warmed raw meat and carrots. The hardest part of their search would come tomorrow, hardest, and most dangerous: Into the forest.

Curled up on the pallet of blankets underneath the table, the draped blankets trapping in as much heat as they could, Stiles began his night time ritual. His fingers carded through his sister's hair as he started the story in a way only Stiles could. As he spoke, his words seemed to come to life, making pictures in the air. Scott asked him once if it was magic, but Stiles had shaken his head with a solemn resolve. The little pictures were formed from the words of ancestors, telling their stories through him. Scott was skeptical and slow to believe him at that time, but in the years since, he'd seen Stiles do enough that Scott was convinced that surely, what he saw with each story, was indeed magic.

"Once, there was a farmer with two sons, and when they were old enough to find a wife, he reminded them of the family's way of choosing a bride. Each boy must cut down a tree. Where the tree pointed after it hit the ground was the direction in which they would find their wife.

"The oldest son already had a sweetheart he wished to marry and cut the tree so that it fell, pointing North towards the farm of his beloved. The second son's tree fell and pointed South.. He often had danced with a girl who lived that way. He would do just fine. Mikko, the youngest's tree pointed to the forest. His brothers teased him, said he would have to marry a wolf or even a fox. Mikko put on a brave face and went off into the forest.

"However, when his brothers were far, far away, he began to cry, for surely he would not find a sweetheart in the forest where there were no humans. Then, he came to a little hut, pushed open the door and went in."

"And that's where he found the mouse princess! Didn't he, Stiles?"

"Hey," he said, poking her in the nose, "I'm telling the story, but yes. That's where he found the mouse. The sweet little mouse told him that she could be his bride, and that she could love him and be true. At first, he did not believe her, but after she sang him a little song, he felt much better. So, as he left her to head home, he told her that she could be his sweetheart. The dear little mouse said she'd wait for him no matter how long it took.

"The older brothers, when Mikko got home, were boasting-"

"What's boasting?" Kaisa yawned.

"Bragging. You know, like they were saying their sweethearts were the best. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah."

Scott chuckled. Even though he'd long since outgrown fairy tales, he found himself hanging on Stiles' every word more than he ever had now that he'd become a father. He tried to commit each tale to memory so that he might be able to weave words the way his friend did, even without magic. 

He snapped his attention back to the story. 

"The father instructed his boys to have their sweethearts each bake him a loaf of bread to judge their skills at homemaking. Now this is a very old story, Kaisa. Boys should learn to make bread, too. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Anyway, as Mikko went back to the forest, feeling just as bad as the day before, because how could a little mouse bake a loaf of bread? The little mouse saw the sadness and asked him what was wrong. 'My father says our sweethearts must bake him bread. If I come back without a loaf, surely my brothers will laugh.' To his delight, the little mouse told him, that she could, in fact, bake. And before he knew it the sound of hundreds of little mice filled the room."

In the air inside their makeshift tent, colorful outlines of tiny mice filled the space, scurrying about as they went in search of the ingredients for bread.

"Mikko's father was quite surprised that he had brought a loaf of wheat bread, because wheat meant his sweetheart had come from wealth. Next, the father requested a sample of the girls' weaving. That means to make cloth, Kaisa. Once more, Mikko returned to the hut in the woods, his sweetheart just as happy as the day before to see him. And just like the day before, she sent out her mice to fetch the means to make the finest flax cloth there ever was. She gave him the fine web of cloth in a nutshell. 

"His father was so surprised, and his brothers quite embarrassed, that once more Mikko's beloved had made theirs look so plain in comparison. Finally, his father stated that he wished to meet these women who had won the hearts of his sons."

"Stiles, will you find someone to win your heart? Maybe a princess?"

He laughed, "We'll see. Now, even though he was not ashamed of his sweetheart, he knew his brothers would laugh. Still, he walked beside the coach as they made the way from the hut to his home. Then, suddenly a man who thought the little coach and servants was just the most ridiculous sight he'd ever seen, pushed Mikko's sweetheart and her servants off the bridge into the water."

Scott watched the outline of the coach slip below the water. "That's horrible, Stiles. She's going to have nightmares."

"No, she's not. She's got the blood of Karhu in her. She is a warrior," the magical picture gave off just enough light for Scott to see the smirk on his face. "Besides. This story is her favorite. Stop interrupting; I'm almost finished. Now... Mikko was beside himself at the thought his poor beloved had drowned, for she was faithful and loving, and now that she was gone, he knew he loved his little mouse, and told this to her little body. 

"No sooner than the words left his lips, a golden coach came by, pulled by the finest horses. Inside, was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Her skin was without flaw; her long blonde hair shone with jewels. 'Why sit beside me,' she said. 'Me,' Mikko said in shock, 'why me.' Then, the girl spoke and said, 'You were not ashamed of me as a mouse, and now that you see I am a princess you will surely still love me.' For the little mouse was really a princess under an evil spell, and if Mikko had not accepted her as a mouse, than she would have been a mouse forever. Now, the spell was broken, and they lived happily ever after, Mikko and his hiironen." Stiles kissed Kaisa's forehead. "Now, good night. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Sometimes, in moments like this one, or when he helped Stiles as he prepared to enter the spirit world, Scott wished that he, too, had power like the heroes in these stories, power like Kira, power like Stiles.

  
  
  


*******

 

Dark had begun to settle in, low lying clouds had a soft glow as they covered the moon within them. Scott, Kaisa and Stiles trudged on. The day had been warmer than expecting, just below freezing, and they'd traveled quite the distance. In the sled, bundled up in a blanket, Kaisa slept, the difficult journey up into the hills too much for her nine year-old-body to handle. The snow up here was denser than they were used to, and Stiles was more than glad to be wearing his polar bear pelt. When first it came into his possession, Mrs. Bhardwaj helped him fashion it into an effective cloak, the upper jaw of what used to be its mouth covering his forehead. 

No matter how long he lived, Stiles would never be able to describe that initial rush of power the first time he'd worn it. In that instant, he felt one with the bear. Its spirit, he supposed was receptive to its new owner. After all, it was not as though he meant to kill the bear. He would never go after one by choice. Still, life or death matters had ways of putting things into startlingly clear perspective…

 

... _ Weary and colder than he'd ever been in his life, Stiles trudged on, his cries hoarse as he shouted his hardest over the plane of frozen sea. "Tara! Can you hear me? Are you out here?"  _

The problem with frozen ice and living so near to it was that little separated them from polar bears. As a boy, his mother had told him how the majestic beasts had been dying out. Their home shrinking as ice melted. If the freeze hadn't happened, it wouldn't have been too long before there were none left. 

Now, though, there was nothing stopping them. They had free reign almost anywhere in the world. Some places at the equator still saw too much sun, and the ice was far too thin for them there. It was not...ideal. 

Late, the night before, he'd heard the scream. They all had, their shipping containers offering little in the way of soundproofing. As he stood on watch, bears had snatched Tara from her post. By the time anyone else was close enough to help, all they found was a trail of blood, and they knew there was little they would be able to do should they find her. Still, they followed, wary, in order to bring Tara back for proper funeral rites. That was when Matt went missing, and though they'd found Tara's body, there was still no sign of him.

Somehow, Stiles had wandered too far from the group and found himself staring at nothing but open ice as far as his eyes could see. He'd been walking on his own for six hours now, and finally had found a familiar berm. He had just put one foot up the hill, when behind him heard a growl. His blood froze in his veins, and before thinking it through, he took off running. 

Had he more than a second to think, he would have come to realize his plan was folly at best. There was no way his fifteen year old legs could outrun a bear. Rather than die attacked from behind, he tightened his grip on his spear. It was nothing fancy, just a length of wood with a tip of rusted steel he'd fashioned himself from old car parts, but it would have to do. Inches from the top of the hill, he turned and came face to face with an angry bear of at least seven hundred pounds.

He was toast. Oh well, at least he'd go down fighting. Spear in his right hand, hunting knife in his left, Stiles readied himself for the attack. He was able to pierce the bear in the neck before it took a swipe at him.

Dizzy with pain and bleeding profusely, he yanked his weapon free and jabbed again, calling out for help as he fought. Adrenaline took over, and none too soon. He got in two additional thrusts before his legs gave out, and the world turned black.

Somewhere in the darkness, he saw a light, and having heard Rabbi Abe speak of afterlife, he thought that it was his time to go.

Instead, as he stepped out from the black into the bright, he found himself in the forest, his surroundings having taken on an odd transparent appearance. It was like they were both, there and not there, just like him. Yet, he was not alone. Surrounding him by the hundreds, he saw shades of people, some he recognized as people they'd lost, but most were faces he'd never seen before, and none of them had been his mother. 

"Am I dead?" he asked the first one he met.

"No," the man said. Stiles studied him for a long while. Thick brows sat atop expressive eyes with irises ringed in gold. His aura was faint, as were all the colors of the dead, but if he squinted and looked hard enough, the gold line around his form bared the slightest resemblance to a wolf. So the supernatural shared the same spirit world. Stiles took comfort in this, that his mother would be here somewhere among friends.

"Is this...is this the spirit world?" He was sure his face conveyed wide-eyed wonder and hope. Though he hadn't the time to study with his mother as he'd hoped, he'd learned enough. "Is this  _ henkimaailma _ ?"

The man brushed his dark hair from his face and gave a solemn nod, his expression hard to read.

"Then, if I'm not dead, why am I here?" 

From behind the mysterious specter, came a bear. Stiles recognized it instantly as the one he'd met on the ice. Once more, the man turned to  "You have traveled below. If you succeed here, you will gain access to our world. It will be hard indeed, but you have a good heart." He pointed to the bear. "Follow the roaring-snow to the great Otso, and the beast will show you the way."

_ Without hesitation, Stiles walked after the bear and his world changed in an instant _ …

 

Eight days he struggled in the alinen, the Lower World, being tested by the dead, ancestral spirits. Could he find the border and return safely? Would he take a wrong path and, in turn, Surma would destroy him?

He found that his spirit animal, a surprise to no one (including himself), was the polar bear for it had taken great bravery to face such dire odds and send the bear to alinen with him. He had shown great strength in adversary, had been reborn and transformed into a mystic for his town, a protector- He emerged from his trance a changed young man. 

Since it had been his kill, he had first claim to the pelt, and he did not hesitate to spend a token on it. In fact, he spent many other tokens to keep other parts of the bear. The skull became his altar, in front of which, he would later commune with the ancestors of so many, offering as much guidance as his young mind could give. He fashioned bones into a holder for what became the Bear Beacon. First, he'd hung the skull from a pike, waiting for carrion birds to peck it clean. Then, he washed it, purified it, and sang a song of magic. At last, he pointed it North and anchored it to the roof of his home.

Every morning, Stiles would climb the narrow ladder to stand alone above the entire town, as he replenished the signal with enchanted oil to keep it burning bright. Without that blaze to call others to their town, Kira and her family would never have found them. Seeing how happy Scott was now, Stiles reasoned, was worth the pain.

A sound from his left drew him out of his mind, and he readied his spear. The original had broken in the fight with the bear, and he'd fashioned this one with care from the finest bough he could find, imbuing it with runes to strengthen it. He tipped it with spearheads he'd crafted himself from the bones of his ursine totem. 

He brought a finger to his lips to silence any words Scott might say as his friend noticed his slowed pace.

Stiles took in his surroundings and realized something very quickly. He did know where they were, and that was bad, because it meant he'd never traveled this far into the forest before. He had a hunch though, and a howl in the distance confirmed it.

There was no time to lose, and Stiles dug through his bag, plucking two small metal canisters from within. Unfortunately, he couldn't find a bowl to mix it with."Give me your hand, Scott."

"What? Why?"

"Don't ask. Just...give it here." He ignored the face Scott made, one of utter repulsion, as Stiles spooned a bit of ash into Scott's palm, then poured a viscous liquid onto the top.

"Is that...is that blood? That's-"

"Animal blood, Scott. Just shut up, please," Stiles hissed as he mixed the two substances together. It would take more time than he had to get the consistency correct and decided that what he had would have to do. Coating his fingers in the concoction, Stiles drew two lines across both his cheeks, another line horizontally across his forehead, drew one down his nose and made two diagonal lines on his chin. On his neck, by feel alone, he made his best attempt at drawing a bear paw. Finally, and this part had always been a bit nauseating to him, he dotted his lips, wiping the excess on the tip of his spear.

In a hushed voice, with closed eyes, he worked through his mantra, his song of magic as it were. By the time he finished, he'd already felt the thrum below his skin, the added strength to his muscles. 

The howls grew closer. Wolves. And he had no way of knowing how many were coming. 

Eyes open and glowing white, he shook his sister awake. "Kaisa, grab your knife."

"Wha-"

"Wolves." By now, his senses had heightened as the bear spirit he was channeling came into full force. He could smell them. "Five."  He turned in the direction of the rapidly approaching growls and saw five pairs of glowing red eyes. Holy shit. They were screwed.

Stiles jumped in front of the sled, putting himself between the werewolves and his family. Spear at the ready, he put on his war face, growling back at them with all the ferocity of the white fury. They skidded to a stop, blocking off their retreat. He knew what lie behind Scott, and knew he'd need to make a choice.

The junction of the frozen rivers was less than a mile to his rear. If he could just take on these wolves, cause a great enough distraction to get them to chase him, Stiles could draw the pack away from Scott and Kaisa. They'd be able to get away.

He figured he was a dead man, but if they were able to escape, then it would be worth it. "Scotty."

"Yeah?"

"Remember Operation Kamikaze?"

"Yeah."

"We're there, dude." Stiles didn't give him time to protest before charging at the nearest alpha. He drew back, praying the wolf would take his bait. It did, but it jumped at him. If he hadn't managed to protect himself first, the claws would have cut through his skin with little resistance. 

But he was wearing the spirit of the bear. Pinned on his back by the snarling werewolf, Stiles took a deep breath and let ursine shaped aura encasing him open its icy blue jaws and clamp down on the wolf's trachea, holding on for dear life. Werewolves may have been stronger than humans, but they had nothing on a polar bear. When the wolf above him stilled, Stiles pushed out from under him. "Scott, run! Take her and go! Do it." 

He spared a glance over his shoulder to see Scott step on the back of the sled before he took off running for the river. In his struggle, one of his snowshoes had broken loose, and with every step, his feet sunk into the snow. There was no way he would be able to outrun any of these wolves for much longer. He couldn't give up, and even though his heart hammered in his chest, he pressed on. Stride for stride, desperate to get to the other side of the boundary.

From somewhere behind him, he heard a dog yelp and Scott cry out. Stiles turned in order to run back to them, but then he heard Scott's poorly pronounced 'Juokse!' commanding the dogs to get running. "Come and get me, Wolfies!" His shout had power behind it, sounded a bit more like a bear than human. In no time, the sound of the four remaining alphas grew closer.

His chest ached, trying to pull in enough air. He could just see the outline of the river about a hundred yards ahead of him, when a wolf crashed into his back. Once more, he found himself thrown onto the snow, and a sharp pain erupted from his side. He'd figure out why later. If he lived that long.

"You killed my mate!" The wolf snarled in his face, its muzzle distorting its words, but their meaning was clear enough. It clamped down on his arm, rendering his spear useless, and dragged him towards the others. "I should tear you apart!"

Stiles used his free arm to stab his knife into the ground. The force jarred him loose of the wolf's clutches, and he turned, wasting no time before driving his spear into its side. His fingers dipped into a pouch on his belt, bringing forth a handful of powder. His lips moved in a near silent mantra, and he felt the mixture heat in his hand.

When it became blistering hot, he flung it behind him at the ground, creating a dense fog and a crack of thunder. It would give him enough time to reach the river. His pulse boomed in his ears; the extra boost in stamina his spirit guide gave him was starting to wane. It was always the first to go.

Never the most sure footed on ice, once he stepped onto the frigid sheet of water, he lost balance and fell onto his back. It knocked the wind out of him.

In an undignified crawl, he inched himself closer to the opposite bank, until he could reach out and clasp his fingers around a tree root sticking out of the ice. He hauled himself onto shore, and just made it to his feet when he heard the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat much closer to him than the wolves he'd fled. A quick sniff confirmed his suspicions. While he tried to formulate a plan, he kept his eyes trained on the ground.

"This is private property!"

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINNISH USED IN CHAPTER:
> 
> Juokse- Run (imperative)


	5. Interactions With Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene 1: “The Angry River”- The Hat, ft Father John Misty & S.I. Istwa  
> Scene 2: “De Novo Adagio”- Alicia Keys  
> Scene 3: “End of the World”- Escape the Fate  
> Scene 4: “Dead Hearts”- Stars
> 
>  
> 
> Content warning: see end notes for explanation

 

As soon as the man stepped foot on his family's territory, Derek took a step back. Now that he could see him clearly through whatever magical fog the man had caused, he stared in wonder. The distinct and icy blue outline of a polar bear surrounded his body, made him larger more imposing. Then, the wind shifted.

With a gasp, Derek felt his heart stutter in his chest. There was no longer a wall of metal separating him from that scent, and it was almost unbearable. Right there, in front of him, was the living embodiment of that elusive feeling of home, and he was beautiful. This close, Derek could hardly breathe. "It's you," Derek whispered before he could stop himself.

The young man lifted his head and growled at him, pointing the spear in his direction. His face, painted red with blood, shone of pure hatred. Those white eyes sent daggers in Derek's direction. How could this be the same man whose very existence, despite having never met him, had brought his mind comfort on too many nights for him to count?

Within seconds, he charged at him, colliding with Derek with far more force than his frame would suggest, and threw him to the ground. When the snow settled, Derek found himself pinned to the ground by the man's weight as he straddled his chest, a large hand at his throat. "Are you one of _them_?" his snarl was venomous.

Derek struggled to speak. "Who?"

"The pack that attacked my family!"

He wrenched his hands free from under his body and held them by his head in surrender. "No."

"Then how do you know who I am?" The grip around his neck tightened.

"Your smell. You...you maintain the beacon. Number 66."

With this information, he scrambled off Derek's chest, and no sooner than the man had stood up, Derek found a spear pointed in his direction. "You know where I live?" This time, the voice was not filled with rage, but it shook, was unsteady. The harsh scent of fear reached his nostrils a moment later. "Why?"

"I am not going to hurt you."

"Why should I believe you? We followed the rules, stayed away from the rivers. They attacked us anyway!"

"If you stayed away, then why are you in my territory?" Derek asked, flashing his red eyes.

The spear was thrust closer to him, this time stopping inches from his chin. The tip was so close that Derek could smell the herbal mixture coating it, and no amount of other ingredients would ever be able to hide the offending odor of wolfsbane. He felt his blood turn cold. "Lesser of two evils. Fight three wolves or the unknown. I went with the unknown."

"I swear I am not going to hurt you."

The man pointed behind Derek with his spear. "Then back up. Keep going, further, further. Okay. Talk! How do you know who I am?"

In the scuffle his hat fell off, his scarf shifted, leaving skin exposed. Derek felt the cold sweat on the back of his neck begin to freeze. "I...sometimes watch your town from up on the ridge."

 

He took a step closer, spear still aimed at him. "Why? So you can tell your betas of our weaknesses, make it easy to slaughter us?"

"I have no betas." Derek's shoulders slumped in defeat. Maybe some day he'd have the courage to ask if he could branch out, make a pack and lead a family of his own. He hadn't even mastered control on the full moon when he turned alpha. It had been...rough, for lack of a better word, and a challenge his grieving mother was not ready to undertake. It had to grate on his Uncle Peter's nerves to try teaching his fifteen year old nephew how to be an alpha when he wasn't one himself (a fact the man had never let him live down either).

The man's derisive laugh echoed through the woods. "A lone wolf alpha who manages to protect the territory all by himself. Yeah right."

"My mother is the alpha of our pack. We're all her betas. I'm just...a spare." Derek hated how small his voice sounded.

The young man lowered the tip of his spear a little. "Why do you watch our town?"

Derek hesitated, wondering how he could explain without coming across as predatory...or weak. He’d never been one to talk about himself, even less so in the years since he’d turned alpha.  "You get to live so free. We…” he sighed,  “have rigid rules. Sometimes when I'm lying up on the ridge, I just imagine I live in one of the containers. Some nights, I come down from the ridge and walk around on the boat." He quickly held up his hands once more in surrender, "I never take anything. I don't hurt anyone. I just...pretend."

The spear lowered until the tip pointed to the ground. "But how do you know me?"

"You're the shaman, the one that smells of lineage, magic, and spice." Derek didn't dare elaborate on all the nuances.

Something he'd said must have dawned on the guy, because his eyebrows rose on his forehead as the white irises faded out, only to be replaced by striking tawny colored ones. And oh god, he looked like a doe in the moonlight, large eyes framed with thick lashes. Even with the blood on his face, Derek could see the beauty underneath. His heart faltered in his chest.

"Yes?"

What- Then, it dawned on him, that perhaps the man still had heightened senses as a result of his magic. Shit. "You smell...I like the way you smell."

"You're responsible for the paw prints outside my door sometimes, aren't you?" he smirked when Derek nodded in the affirmative. "Stiles."

"What?"

"That's my name. Well, it's a nickname. I find people unfamiliar with my mother's native tongue have trouble pronouncing my name."

"Derek," he took a tentative step forward, "are you hurt anywhere?" It was hard for him to determine. Stiles smelled like blood, but he couldn't pick out what type from what he'd mixed it with.

"Um," Stiles looked down at his hand, swaying on his feet. With owlish eyes, blinking several times, he looked up at Derek, "I think I'm okay."

Then he promptly passed out.

  
  
  


*******

 

Stiles groaned, and rubbed his forehead. When his eyelids fluttered open, it took a moment for things to come into focus, and the surroundings that he could see were foreign. He sat up quickly, and just as quickly, realized his mistake. His stomach lurched; the pain in his side was more than nauseating. However, he was able to stop himself from vomiting.

He looked around him and could see rocks, dark shadows, and out of the corner of his eye a flicker of light. A cave?

"Easy there."

Stiles recognized that voice. He turned his head in the direction from which it came. To his left, sitting on the other side of the small fire, was the wolf he remembered before passing out. Don...Davi- "Derek?" The man nodded, and he took in his appearance. Derek was far more handsome than Stiles had initially thought, not that it surprised him. Whenever he channelled his spirit guide, he found his vision no better than normal. It had been too dark before to see anything other than the glowing red eyes.

Before him now, he could see the sharp jawline, highlighted by a dark beard, neatly groomed. Equally dark hair and thick eyebrows framed the rest of his face. The man's straight nose led up to eyes that in the fire light looked like opals. Something about his face made Stiles want to scoot closer. However, before he could move, Derek closed the distance and helped him to lie back down.

"You have a gash on your side, but I didn't have any supplies to fix you up," he said. "But I have a towel wrapped around your abdomen to protect the cut."

Oh that was the pain he felt when the second wolf collided with him. "In my bag, there's a salve and clean cloths. The container says Wound Balm." He watched Derek rummage through his rucksack. When Stiles tried to take it from him, he frowned.

"Please let me help you."

Stiles relented and took a deep breath. The balm always stung when applied, and this time was no different. Yet, soon, he felt the pain wicking away from him. He glanced over and saw dark lines rolling up Derek's hand. "What are you-"

"It's something werewolves can do. I'm not supposed to use it; it's dangerous to do it often. My mother would be rather upset with me if she knew what I was doing, but then again, she'd be against everything about this encounter."

Stiles licked his lips, a lightheadedness spreading throughout his body as the pain subsided into a dull ache. Far more manageable than when he'd first awoken. "I don't, I don't understand."

Derek gave him a resigned smile. "Contact with humans is...forbidden."

"But- we have an alpha in our town. She's old now and no longer has a pack, but she said packs have human and wolf alike."

"Ours is only wolves." His chilled fingertips brushed against Stiles' bare skin as he finished wrapping the wound, making him shiver. "Sorry. I tried to warm it up in here, but the wind outside is really blowing."

Derek helped him sit, propped up on a rolled up blanket behind his back, then tugged the blanket back over him. Stiles looked around. "And where is here?"

"This," he said, spreading his arms around the place, "it's my...for lack of a better word, den."

Stiles raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You live here?"

"No. My family, pack, we live in an old elementary school near the top of the hill." Derek rubbed his hands together. "This, this is where I come when I need to get away.”

When his stomach voiced its displeasure at the lack of food in it, Stiles groaned. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to eat in here would you? My supplies are in-" Stiles' blood chilled in his veins, and he struggled to get out of the blanket, trying to stand as he realized the emptiness of the cave.

"Whoa, whoa. You need to sit down. You're injured."

"I've had worse. My family," he grabbed his side, not able to get more than three steps before stopping to breathe. "I need to get to my family. Scott, I heard him shout in pain during the scuffle. I need to make sure they're okay. Kaisa, she's my- She's nine. I'm all she has."

Derek regarded him, as though he were trying to puzzle things out. "And Kaisa is your...child?"

"Yes, well no. It's- She's my little sister, but I pretty much raised her after my mom died. If I don't get back soon. They are going to think I'm dead." Stiles' heart thudded against his sternum; his breathing grew shallow. Oh god.  He needed to make sure she was okay, but the room began to close in on him. Black spots appeared in his vision. "I...I... they need- you don't-" His legs felt like they would give out any second, and moments later, he felt a pair of strong hands grip him around the waist.

"It's okay. I got you. Come on. Sit, please."

Chest heaving, Stiles tried to speak, but Derek cut him off.

"Breathe. Inhale. Count with me. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Now exhale." He continued counting with him until Stiles felt some semblance of control return. "It's near white-out conditions out there. You would _never_ make it back home."

Head foggy from the panic, Stiles rubbed his temples. "But then, they're dea-"

"No. It just started about an hour ago. You've been out of it for about 12 hours. I think. It's hard to tell without the sun. If they had dogs pulling them. They would have at least made it to the houses at the bottom of the hill. You said Scott got hurt?"

He licked his lips, focusing on his breathing. "Yeah. Scott. He's like my brother; he's got a one year old. I heard a growl and then he yelped."

Derek crossed his arms and nodded. "Then he probably was bitten."

Stiles stared down at his fingers knit in his lap. "It's my fault we were out. I lost track of time, and we came much farther into the hills than usual. So, he's gonna be like you? That's not so bad. One our elders in town, she's the alpha I mentioned. She can train him."

He continued to breathe, the way Melissa had shown him. She’d taught him to picture the fear as a large snowball, to imagine his hands squeezing that ball, compressing it, until it got smaller and smaller, more manageable and would eventually crumble in his fingers. It was a good coping mechanism for him.

He sat silent for several minutes, and though his eyes were closed, putting everything he had into the visualization technique, he could feel Derek’s eyes on him, watching him with concern. Slowly, his head cleared; his heart and breathing slowed. Rational thought returned, and he took in what Derek had said. There was a blizzard outside; leaving would be suicide.

Since it was obvious he would not be going anywhere for the time being, and the strange fact that he felt safe around Derek (that alone should have scared him given his ordeal the night before, but he was oddly comforted by it), he decided to make small talk.

However, once they got past general pleasantries, the conversation turned to deeper topics.

With help, he shifted down to the floor. Derek offered him another blanket, to which Stiles accepted. "You mind if we share?"

"No."

As Derek snuggled under the blanket with him, he talked about his father and the way he'd died, spoke of his little sister, Cora. He’d been the middle child, loved both his sisters, dearly. Laura, he’d said, would be an alpha one day.

Stiles, true to form, couldn’t stop himself from gushing about his family--especially Kaisa--and their little town. He told Derek about his parents, how they’d lost his mother in childbirth. When he spoke about his father, he left off the details about their last conversation, the sting of guilt still too strong.

Both of them divulged their earliest memories, finding they each remembered a little about life before the freeze. It was nice.

“You know how it is when you're in love,” “That’s life though,” Derek continued, "you think you know everything."

"No, actually, I don't. I've...never been in love." He looked over to see Derek's mixed expression of disbelief and awe. "I didn't say I didn't understand you entirely. There was someone I used to care about a lot, but I wasn't in love with her. We just..we had fun, her and I. I might have, one day, come to love her though."

"What happened?"

"Pneumonia. Two years ago. We have some medicine. Scott's mom was a nurse, and our town has a druid, a former emissary, but there's only so much we can do."

The light coming in from the mouth of the cave eventually turned to night before the snow let up, and by then, Stiles, though hoarse from hours of conversation, felt like he knew Derek almost as well as he knew Scott. Derek, as he found out, was twenty-five. Not much older than himself, and he liked to read...a lot. He had claimed the library in the school for his own space and seemed thoroughly undeterred by the fact all the books were for children.

There was an air of comfort and peace when Stiles talked to him, like he needed to get to know this man.

Stiles always enjoyed when he got that feeling about someone, like the meeting was guided by the ancestors. He liked to think it was his mother paving the way for him. It gave him strength.

Cuddled up with Derek beside him, he succumbed to the warmth and drifted.

  


*******

  


In his hand, Derek held a small handful of a green powder. He focused his mind, remembering Stiles' words very clearly (" _Throw up a small handful into the air. You have to make sure it forms a cloud around you, and you have to hold the image of me in your mind for it to work. After you walk through the cloud, all trace of my scent should be erased from you._ "). The problem was, Derek didn't want to remove the smell from him. Derek wanted to be surrounded in it constantly.

He smiled, and although it was bittersweet, having to watch Stiles walk away after the snow finally let up, he still had the memory of the way Stiles' lips had felt against his...

 

... _Derek offered to help him get to the ridge, but Stiles assured him he could take care of himself. Anxiety churned in the pit of Derek's stomach. He was used to disappointment, and he couldn't shake the feeling that if he let Stiles leave, then he would never see him again. "Are you sure you don't want my help?"_

Stiles hefted his bag back over his shoulder, wincing, but straightening. "No, thank you. I don't want you to risk more for me than you already have." He handed Derek a small pouch. "I put extra in there, just in case."

Derek closed his hands around the pouch, letting his fingertips graze against Stiles' skin. "Thank you."

"No," Stiles gave him a soft smile, "thank you. I was not going to be able to fight off the rest of those alphas by myself. You didn't have to let me in your territory, take care of me, keep me safe."

"Yes, I did."

"Well then, I need to do this. Let me do what I can to keep _you_ safe."

Derek leaned in, trying to see if Stiles would close the distance, but he stopped, the worry in his gut now too much for him to handle. "And what happens when you leave? I just...I've said more to you in the last 24 hours than I have to anyone in ten years.. I rarely said more than necessary. But you...I don't know. It was just so easy. There has to be a reason the most settled I ever feel is sleeping outside your door." Stiles took a couple steps towards the mouth of the cave without saying a word, as though he fully intended to leave, and Derek tried to ignore the way it felt like he couldn't breathe. "When you leave, what then?"

Stiles stepped outside, but then he stilled. Without warning, he doubled back and crashed into him. Stiles' rough, wind-burned lips dragged across his, and it took a second or two for Derek's brain to register the contact. That was all it took, though. He felt a warmth settle in his chest, spread through his veins.

He would always remember the way it was to kiss _Her_ , feel her bare skin against him, but it never felt like this. _Her_ lips never felt like safety; they always felt like a danger, and even though he relished the thrill of it then, he knew better now. Age had made him wiser.

Stiles' lips, _his_ kiss, felt like destiny, like Derek's whole life had been leading to this moment.

The realization took his breath away. He stepped back, his fingers touching his lips as they pulled back into a shy grin. Wow.

With his hands still fisted in the fabric of Derek's coat, Stiles leaned his forehead against Derek's. "Mmmm. You can visit town any time you want. And don't just camp outside my door. Give the metal a scratch with those claws of yours. I'll let you in."

"Really?" Derek hadn't even begun to hope, but Stiles had set his mind at ease.

 _He licked his lips. "Just, do me a favor. Wait to shift out of your fur until I hand you a blanket. There are innocent eyes I need to protect. I don't think Kaisa needs to see that yet," Stiles smirked, kissed him on the cheek and left_...

 

For several minutes after Stiles left, Derek stood staring at the mouth of the cave, half giddy, half dreadfully nervous.  

He did as Stiles had instructed him, and as the powder fell upon him, he felt like a cloak of darkness had been pulled over his eyes. He'd had only the briefest amount of time with him, but already, Stiles had become like the sun, setting his whole world, every nerve alight. He wished he could feel that all the time.

Now...he just needed to get home.

His weary feet trudged through the snow. He found the tree where he always hung the backpack he carried his clothes in when he shifted in the woods, and he thought about doing the same today, but he knew he'd face an inquisition when he returned home. He shook off his clothing, letting the stealth powder fall to the snow. There was a pang in his chest when he realized Stiles had been right. It worked, because he could no longer smell him.

Instead of dwelling on feeling as though it was truly goodbye, Derek let his mind wander, going through his favorite books, some had already been in the school library when they settled in, some he'd found over the years. Perk of werewolf stamina, he guessed. He could run farther and faster and travel to areas much farther than his mother would like, especially if she knew where he'd been. Those books he kept hidden.

At the tree line, near the bottom of the hill, there was an old oak tree, long since dead and fallen over with a red ribbon tied around the hollowed out trunk. Stiles had done that, he said, to mark the trail so he could find it easily. This would be the perfect spot to place the letters and little trinkets the two of them talked about leaving for each other. That thought had Derek's stomach fluttering with excitement. The idea that he could share his favorite books with Stiles, that Stiles could share some of the amazing things he'd scavenged was wondrous indeed.

Before long, the exterior of Pine Hills Elementary came into view; the remnants of abandoned houses covered in snow surrounded the school grounds which, at this point, were nothing more than two acres of snowy fields. When he was a kid, he and his sisters, and his Uncle Peter's kids, Jackson and Malia, would shift, spending hours frolicking around in the snow. After Cora died...no one did that anymore, well certainly not him. He didn't deserve to continue having fun out there when he'd failed to save her.

The soulless fence made of dozens of chevaux de frise, separated their pack home from the forest surrounding it. After that night ten years ago, not even patrolled territory lines were enough. That was part of the reason Derek found his cave. It was no longer in the pack territory, and the mouth of it could not be seen from anywhere on their lands.

The moment he stepped into the school, he found himself staring into his mother's worried face, anger just barely contained behind schooled features. Her long black hair, streaked with strands of grey, hung loose around her shoulders. "Derek Sebastian Hale! Where _have_ you been?"

He took a step back, slightly afraid of her tone. "There, there was a blizzard. I didn't think it would be wise to be out in it. I found a space to hole up. I'm sorry."

She studied his face as if checking for a lie. Well she wouldn't find one, because everything he'd just said was true. Over the years, Derek had developed ways to circumvent his actual activities and whereabouts. He would frame his answers so that his words were true, but non-descript. He could never outright lie to her. He tried once, and look where that got him. She pulled him into a hug, but it felt empty, like its sole purpose was to scent him and get more information. When she stepped back, he contained his relief that the powder had worked.

"Glad you're safe, but why in the hell were you out of the house in the first place?" The ire in her words startled him. He honestly thought he'd be free from the wrath of his alpha.

"Mom, I just get- I need to stretch my legs."

"Stretch your legs for thirty-six hours?"

"I hate being cooped up in the house. I get patrol duty once a week; these walls are suffocating, Mom. I want to see what lies beyond our territory, and since I can't do that, I do the next best thing. I'm fine, really." He hated how small his voice shrank, how tiny his words were around his mother. The fear of failing the pack yet again made him feel like a child, not the twenty-five year old man he was.

Talia pinched the bridge of her nose and let out an irritated huff of breath. "Of all my children to acquire an alpha spark, it had to be the one with terminal curiosity and claustrophobia," she uttered under her breath.

Derek just stared at her, the fluttering in his stomach now replaced with a churning sensation. This...he always suspected he disappointed her, feared the whole pack wished it had been him and not Cora, but to hear- He straightened his posture, steeled the breaking of his heart for a later time, a safer location. Mask of dutiful beta firmly secured on his face, he nodded. "Sorry I worried you, Mom. Next time, I will make sure to howl. Let you know I'm safe."

He started to walk away, bound for the safety of the library and the lock on the doors, the doors he closed to keep out the rest of the world, but he heard her call after him, "At least Laura would still follow directions!"

A hundred more feet, that's all he needed, and then he could barricade himself inside, retreat to his bedroom in the librarian's office. Derek could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. As soon as he could smell the scent of old books, Peter walked out of the third grade classroom he shared with his family. "You shouldn't make her worry so much. She takes it out on the rest of us. If only you would just learn your place in this pack, Derek, everything would flow so much more smoothly."

Derek glared at him, not even bothering to stop the red from bleeding into his eyes. "Thank you for your input. I'll keep it in mind." Derek knew very well his place, where he belonged, and it was nowhere within these brick walls.  He didn't even bother to stay and hear his uncle's rebuttal.

Once the double doors had been secured behind him, he unrolled the thick blanket from atop the doorway. The hall was drafty, and this little step helped keep the library somewhat warm.

Daylight filtered in through the windows, high on the wall, and he walked through the stacks trying to pick one Stiles might like. The books had been filed in a certain order, something called the Dewey Decimal system, as a laminated poster he'd found on the floor years ago had told him. The poster now sat on the circulation desk as reference.

But there was one bookshelf to which he'd moved his favorites among the original books the school had in its possession. He plucked a couple candidates from the shelf, a pen and a sheet of stationery from the drawer, and then retreated to the safety of his room.

It was nothing fancy, but it was his. He closed the office door and locked it tight, giving it the same blanket over the door treatment he'd done with the double doors. Along the far wall, he'd shoved the long desk. Atop of it, he'd placed his blanket roll, a sleeping bag inside which he'd stuffed folded blankets with crumpled paper in between each layer of fabric. Sleeping off the floor, kept him warmer, and since he tended to sleep in wolf form, there was little danger of rolling off the desk. A couple of tattered fleece blankets lay rumpled in the corner. He never bothered to fold them; it was easier to burrow into them and tug them over his shifted form if they were left messy.

The bookcase next to the door held what little clothing he had, and sadly, most of it had once belonged to his father. The drawers of the desk were for his "treasures" as he called them. Books, a teddy bear from when he was a child, little things like that. Pictures of strangers abandoned in houses found a new home in an old cigar box. He liked to make up stories about the people the same way he did with the people of Beacon Hills. It made him feel like he had friends.

Before the light outside faded too much, Derek resolved to start his letter. He wrapped himself in one of his blankets. With gloved fingers, he clutched the pen and put it to paper.

 

 

> " _Stiles,_
> 
> _You'd probably laugh at me if you could see me right now, curled up on my bed, writing you a letter on old school stationery. It's only been a few hours since you left, and I feel more alone than ever..."_
> 
>  

*******

 

Forty-eight hours since he'd been separated from his family, Stiles finally stumbled into his childhood home, immediately finding himself crushed in a hug. Melissa patted his hair, uttering maternal words of relief. Scott sniffled into one shoulder, Kira into the other. Kaisa clung to him, sobbing, inconsolable.

"I thought you were gone too," she cried, wiping her nose on his shirt. Her chilly little fingers wiped the tears from his eyes.

"I got stuck in the blizzard." When Scott squeezed a little too hard, he winced. "Easy man. I cut myself in the chase, but I-" He stopped short, remembering Scott's cry of pain. "But you, I heard you. What happened?"

"They got me on the leg before I could get to the sled." Scott looked down at his feet. "Tonttu saved me, but I couldn't," his voice broke as more tears rolled down his face, "I couldn't save her. They caught her in the neck. I was able to get her into the sled, but she-" He took a deep breath.  "She's in container 2. We were going to give it a couple more days to see if you'd make it back before we took care of her body."

Stiles swallowed hard, remembering how he'd fed her by hand as a pup. _Keep it together. Keep it together_. "But you...are you okay. Let me see your leg."

Scott shrugged. "There's nothing to show you. It's healed."

Ah. So Scott was a werewolf now. That would take some time to get used to. How were they going to handle the first full moon? He certainly couldn't be around anyone.

Something in his face must have given away his train of though, because Scott was quick to reassure him. "Satomi came to talk to me. She's gonna help. She said it's lucky she's an alpha, or the other pack would eventually come for me."

Stiles nodded, still a mix of emotions. It was hard to focus when relief, worry, grief, and that thrum of excitement Derek's kiss had given him were all rushing through his veins. "She's gonna help you. You'll be an amazing werewolf, Scotty. No more asthma. Stronger. You can help keep the town safe. This will be good for you."

"Yeah," Scott said, his dimpled grin lighting up his face, "it was pretty bad the first night though. Mom had to take me to the infirmary. One hell of a fever."

Ah speaking of Melissa. "Hey Mel, you think you can take a look at my side?"

She helped him sit and strip out of his shirts. His bare torso put his long since healed wounds on full display. The four claw marks, scars pink against the pale of his skin, ran from his right hip to left pectoral. Now, however, there was a gash about six inches in length on his left side.

Melissa made sure to warm up her hands at the hearth before checking on the injury. "This looks pretty painful, but bandaged pretty well."

He felt the heat flush in his cheeks. "Oh, well. I may have had some help." Trying to play it cool, his lips curled into a smile on their own accord. "To outrun the wolves, I may have, sort of...okay I totally did, crossed the frozen rivers. I met one of the Hale pack. He um... I may have sort of passed out. So he took care of me."

"Well, this doesn't look too deep, and the balm you put on it, stemmed the bleeding. So I shouldn't need to stitch it up. Please just take it easy for a few days." When she had helped him back into his clothes, she pushed a bowl of food in from of him. "So, tell me about this wolf."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Uh huh," she said, and it was clear she did not believe him, "save it. I know that look. Scott blushed like crazy when he first met Kira. This look, I _know_ this look well." She covered his hands with her own.

"He's um, Derek. He's twenty-five...and his pack is not allowed to interact with humans. It was risky for him to help me, but- Oh get this, Mel. You remember all those dog prints outside my door over the years?"

"Yes."

"They belong to Derek. Seems he likes visiting the town after dark. But anyway. He's beautiful. Dark hair, these eyes, they remind me of opals, like the one my mom had in that necklace. Quiet, but interesting. I don't know, Mel...I kissed him, and felt my magic just light up."

She patted his cheek. "That's cute. It's nice to see you blush because you're happy for once. I'll let you finish your dinner."

He nodded, taking a bite of the caribou and beet stew. This one was always one of his favorite meals. It had a way of sticking to his ribs, kept him full until morning. Kaisa kept stealing glances at him from where she sat playing with Kenji. Her face was still fraught with worry, and he swore with every glance, she was trying to memorize his face as though she was expecting him to disappear on her.

She fell asleep before he finished eating, and rather than wake her, he covered her in a blanket and left her sleeping soundly curled around little Kenji.

The night sky was clear, the half moon bright as he walked around the corner to his apartment. He found himself smiling, genuinely smiling. He'd protected his family and made it back to them mostly in one piece. He'd met someone he actually thought he could see himself with. For the first time in a long time, there was a lightness in his chest.

Delighted to be back in the familiar softness of his own bed, he was asleep in no time. Some time later, he the creak of the container door opening woke him. Once the door closed over and was latched again, the pitter of little feet drew closer to his bed, but he was not afraid. The edge of his bed dipped down ever so slightly, and Kaisa crawled under the covers.

He ran his fingers through her hair. "Kaisa, what's the matter? Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head. "No. I keep seeing monsters with red eyes."

"Aww," he cooed and kissed the top of her head, "but Miss Satomi has red eyes, and she's not a monster."

"I thought you were never coming back. That you died like poor Tonttu. You didn't wake me up and take me with you when came home," she curled her fingers in his shirt, "and I thought the monsters came back and got you."

He could both hear and feel her crying into his chest. "Shh, shh. Oon kunnossa, hiiroseni. Oon okei."

"Kaikki jättää mut."

He held her a little tighter. "I'm not going anywhere. If I can survive a polar bear, I think that means I'm pretty tough."

Kaisa sniffled into his shirt; a little wet laugh escaped her throat. "You are pretty tough." She sat up. "I'll go back to my bed now."

He could hear the hitch in her voice. She didn't want to sleep in her own bed. "You can stay," which was, apparently the exact thing she wanted to hear, because she giggled and snuggled back in under the blanket. "Hyvää yötä, Kyösti. Rakastan sua."

He kissed her temple. "Mäkin rakastan sua." And if he held on a little tighter than usual, or if he shed a tear or two, she didn't say anything.

  
  


 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In scene 4, Scott tells Stiles that one of their dogs did not survive the alpha attack. It is not described in graphic detail. I just know deaths of pets can be difficult for some to read. 
> 
> The content comes right after : "They got me on the leg before I could get to the sled." and ends right before "But you...are you okay. Let me see your leg."
> 
>  
> 
> Finnish used in chapter:
> 
> Oon kunnossa, hiiroseni. Oon okei.- I'm fine, my little mouse. I’m okay.  
> Kaikki jättää mut= everyone leaves me  
> Hyvää yötä, Kyösti= good night, (Stiles' name)  
> Rakastan sua= I love you  
> Mäkin rakastan sua= Love you too (I, too, love you)


	6. No Matter Near or Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene 1: “Last of the Wilds”- Nightwish  
> Scene 2: “Yearn”- HURT  
> Scene 3: “Wolf”- First Aid Kit

 

 

 

Laura's words to his fleeing four-legged form as he bolted the school at the first opportunity echoed in Derek's head,  _ ‘Derek! Get back in here right now! Mom is gonna kill you! She hasn't given the all clear! Come back, Derek!’ _

He padded down the hill, his large paws sinking down into the snow with his weight. The blue ribbon clenched between his teeth had been tied around a small parcel he wrapped in a scarf. They, Stiles and him, had been doing this for almost six months now, and he craved these moments. They'd been too few, too fleeting, and for two weeks now, he'd tried to get away, to get time to himself. The weather, unfortunately, had other ideas and sent another harsh storm their way.

His mother had been very firm in her command that no one leave the school until the storm had passed. She'd looked right at him when she issued the curfew. Though he wanted to flee then and there to get to his cave before the storm hit, he didn't dare disobey her this time. That look of pure disappointment on her face was not something he was capable of handling right now. On a good day, he only disliked himself, but on the bad ones...he'd had a lot of those. Seeing her shake her head, look at him in that way that said ' _ Oh, Derek. Why can't you be more like Laura? _ ' only made him feel worse about himself. 

So for fourteen days, Derek spent almost every free moment of his time in the library. He'd taken hours selecting this book for Stiles, even longer writing the letter he'd tucked in between pages. In section 736, there was a book on origami. He found it one day when he was younger, and it quickly became one of his favorites. Folding paper was a way to pass the time. So, he'd lovingly folded his letter into a heart shaped envelope and secured it in his copy of  _ Classic Fairy Tales _ , right before 'The Little Mermaid'. He loved that story, especially now. Two different worlds. How could they ever be together? But he wanted it desperately. They would find a way.

As soon as the wind let up, Derek was out the door, running down from the hills as fast as the deep snow would allow. Worried about someone in the pack following him, he doubled back, changing directions at least ten times to disguise his route. As soon as he hit the frozen river, he carefully trod east. He wasn't good on ice at all. His legs slid out from under him almost a dozen times, but this was a necessary step to keep someone in the pack from finding his tracks.  After about a mile on the river, he turned and continued down the hill.

Soon, the fallen oak came into sight, and he bounded over a snow drift, his heart hammering with excitement in his chest. For two weeks, he'd waited for the right time to get away, to get time to himself, and for two weeks he'd been miserable. In his rush, he wasn't fully paying attention to his surroundings and caught his foot on something obscured under the snow. The sudden momentum shift sent him flying into the log.

With a whine, he picked himself up out the snow bank and shook out his fur. The impact had jarred the ribbon from his mouth. He pawed around, digging in the snow frantically trying to find his gift before it got ruined. He'd worked so hard on it, and that book was his favorite. The fantastical stories had this way of transporting him to far off places, somewhere miles away from here, anywhere other than the bleak existence that was his life. His heart pounded in his chest; he'd probably be crying if he wasn't in wolf form.

He dug and dug until finally, he found the book, the scarf had come unwrapped, and the book lay on top of it, exposed to the still falling snow. Derek turned around, brushing it off with his tail; he pushed the book open with his snout, and to his dismay, his lovingly crafted envelope had been torn loose and blown away. His heart broke in his chest, but then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stationery, yellowed with age, held against a tree trunk by the wind. He rushed over to it, and took the remnants of his love letter in his teeth. The bottom third of the second page had ripped off with the envelope, but enough of the letter remained so that his sentiments were more than clear. It took a bit of work, but he managed to tuck the letter back in between the pages of the book, even in its original spot. Haphazardly rewrapped in the scarf, Derek pushed the parcel into the hollowed out log with his snout. 

The present Stiles had left for him sat undisturbed at the other end. This was their system. Derek's gift to Stiles went in the left side, Stiles' to him in the right. Gingerly, he clenched his teeth around the drawstring of a small bag and tugged it loose so he could see it better. It was small, made from a motley of fabrics; the bottom of the bag seemed to be made from a woolen sock. Little beads made from bone were threaded through in the simple pattern of a wolf and...was that a bear? Derek couldn't be certain. Small pieces of ribbon encircled the bag, sewn to the bag with leather cord. He sniffed at it; it smelled nothing of Stiles. He whined, aching to have that scent fill his nose once more. But Stiles clearly cared about his safety, and for that, Derek was grateful. 

Cord in his mouth, Derek ran for home, hoping for it to be dark when he arrived so he could slip in unnoticed.

 

*******

 

Stiles laid the rabbit in the snow while he crouched down to peer into the log. He needed to reach his arm in as far as he could in order to grab the gift. Once he'd pulled it free, he sat down in the snow drift. The book, and he could tell it  _ was _ a book, had been wrapped in a blue silk scarf. Derek's wrapping skills left much to be desired, but when he saw the mangled letter tucked before 'The Little Mermaid', he just assumed an animal had been rummaging. He held the book against his chest tightly, dipping his chin to kiss the cover.

He wondered what Derek had thought of his gift.  Kaisa helped Stiles make the folk bag he'd put Derek's latest gifts in, proved true to her nickname and moused for little swatches of fabric all over town. He got Morrell to help enchant the bag to hide the scent of anything inside it.

For many long nights, Stiles sat by his stove using the light it provided to lovingly craft a pendant. Years ago, he'd found a scrap of steel and found it worked perfectly to create burn art. He made jewelry from time to time, offered them in his shop for barter. So there he was, metal shard heated until it was glowing hot, painstakingly burning intricate symbols onto sanded caribou antler. First he marked the edges with a flowing pattern meant to represent snow drifts. Then he singed the pendant on one side the symbol for a wolf, on the other, a bear. In the middle, he made two men, hands joined under the full moon. He made the mark to represent the magic of the shaman. When finished, and cooled, he pricked his thumb with a needle. His blood, he mixed with rose oil and glue. Then he dipped his thumb in the mixture and pressed a thumbprint to the back of the pendant, whispering words to a spell he'd worked on with Morrell (she was far more skilled in herbal magic than he would ever be) as the print dried. He protected the pendant with a varnish he made of pine resin and wood ash. The final touch was the braided leather cord he threaded through a hole at the top.

It was his finest work. The little note he'd put in the bag...not so much. He laughed at the desperation in his words (" _ Please. I miss you. Kaisa asks about you often. I just want to wake up next to you again. Your kiss is addictive; feeling your body pressed against mine under the covers is more so, and I imagine knowing the rest of your body will only make me want you more" _ ). With scraps of blue satin, he crafted a sachet, filled it with herbs. For extra measure, he added the last of his rose powder. He didn't need to make a love spell. He just wanted to relieve some of Derek's emotional turmoil.

As far as the days went, this one was not that cold. So he sat on the log and read through some of the stories. The letter he would save for the comfort of his home. Derek, he'd found, had quite a way with words. Words that, in every letter, worked their way into Stiles' brain and left him more turned on than he'd ever been in his life. The funny thing was, they weren't even explicit letters. Just love letters, but the emotion in them was what set his mind reeling in the best possible way. He smiled on his way back to town, remembering the way Derek had won Kaisa over by telling her stories the first time he'd brought Derek into Beacon Hills, well the first time in human form anyway…

 

... _ Stiles squeezed Derek's hand as they walked along the shipdeck. He could sense the tension coursing through Derek's veins, and so, he stopped walking. "Hey," he said grabbing Derek's other hand and pulling him towards him. Even through all the layers they both wore, he swore he could feel the warmth of Derek's skin. "You're gonna be okay." _

"I know. I just. I'm not good with people. I've been around no one but my pack for years, and even then they barely talk to me. I'm like the pack pariah."

He kissed Derek's nose. "Nonsense." He linked arms with Derek and continued to guide him towards his childhood home.

Stiles kicked a pile of snow, sending the light powder into the air for them to walk through, and couldn't help but giggle as the flakes settled on his collar. Instead of making a snappy comeback, he just continued walking. "I know you're worried my family won't like you, but you're just projecting."

"I..." Derek pressed his lips together in a tight line, before giving a resigned sigh. "You're right."

"But they will love you." Stiles stopped in front of the closed door.

"I thought we were having dinner."

"And we are." Stiles said, opening the door to container seventy. "Hey, Mel, we're... oh god. It's so nice and warm and smells amazing in here. What's for dinner?" He kissed her cheek and divested himself of his bear skin and parka.

"Scott and Allison bagged a caribou this morning. And she let him keep the good stuff."

Stiles covered his heart. "You made brisket?"

"With parsnips and sorghum."

"My favorite. Did you make that just because I have a friend over?" 

"No."

He looked over to see Derek enamored with the strand lights hanging along the ceiling. Little strings of them hung downward like icicles. The way the soft white light made little flecks of light on Derek's cheeks, reflected in his eyes warmed his heart. "What?"

"Sometimes I would see the lights in the market from up on the ridge. I just assumed they were lanterns, because it was always pitch black when I ventured down from my spot. I never imagined they were electric. I...haven't had electricity since I was seven. How?"

"Solar. Danny's dad, Ed, he lives in number 11, he worked for the power company before the freeze. Years ago, he made a trip with the truck we have, to a hardware store. He called it a big box store. I don't know what that means, but anyway, he found wire and other supplies. There is a store not too far from here that used to sell fishing boats. Apparently, boats have things that run on the kind of batteries he needed. Well, he knew of a factory that made solar panels. From there it was easy. Each stack of containers has a solar panel and a generator to store the power they don't use. During the day, most people are busy, out and about, in school or working in their shop. We don't use as much power during the day. Over the years, we've found enough lights so that each home has one."

Derek reached up and touched one of the tiny lights with his finger. "My dad tried to teach us, but most of what I know comes from choosing to live in the library. There are good size windows that give me enough light to read during the day. It's so-"

The apartment door opened once more, and Scott walked in with his family and Kaisa. Stiles looked at his sister, standing rigid in the doorway. Ever since that night in the forest, she'd been skittish around new people. Stiles had spoken about Derek many times, but stories were one thing. Seeing a person in the flesh was different. "It's okay, Hiironen. This is Derek."

He watched as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chew on it. The two of them shared the same nervous habit. "But he's like those monsters in the woods. The ones that tried to eat us."

"No, no. Derek is a wolf. Just like Grandma Satomi and like Scott. He's not a monster."

"But," she said, fingers playing with the drawstring on her hood, "he looks angry."

Stiles was just about to say that was just how Derek looked, that he was scared about them not liking him, but then, Derek spoke. "My older sister says I have angry eyebrows. She says they're good for scaring people, but not so good for making friends." He sighed and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. "If you come here, I can show you something pretty neat. I promise I won't hurt you." And so, Derek promptly sat down on the floor and waited for Kaisa to approach him. When she did, she sat across from him. Then, he shifted, just his face but enough to get her used to it. "See, I'm still me," he said, lisping around his fangs.

Of course, when his fangs elongated, she'd gasped in fright, but the longer he sat there, shifted, without moving, the more comfortable with it she became. Then, she began to giggle.

"What's so funny?" Derek asked.

Kaisa covered her mouth to stop her laughter; it didn't work. "What happened to your eyebrows?"

He shifted back. "I don't...actually know," he said, tilting his head to the side as he pondered her question. He looked like a confused puppy. "I guess I never thought about it. See? I can't be that scary if I don't have eyebrows." When she continued to giggle, Derek smiled, and Stiles was positive his heart melted a little. "Do you like stories?"

"Yeah, but...I don't read that good."

"Well," Stiles corrected her, which earned him a roll of the eyes.

"Mr. Yukimura says I have dyslexia. More like dis-sucks-ia. I hate it."

Stiles sat down next to them, and she crawled into his lap. "We've tried to make do with what we have, but Ken, that's Kira's dad, he's the teacher at the school, well he says he doesn't have the most adaptive school supplies. I don't know what that means."

Derek nodded. "Well, Kaisa, would you like me to tell you the story about the two wolf brothers?"

_ When her face lit up, Stiles was sure he had never actually been happier _ …

  
  


The walk back to town had taken longer than he intended, and he arrived back to his container after dark. Once inside, he found it surprisingly warm. He fumbled around on the table for the pull chain to his small lamp. Table was a bit of a stretch. It was really just an old dresser drawer turned upside down over a cinder block, but it worked. He picked up the piece of paper from the table. 

> " _ Hey Stiles, I figured you'd be back earlier, but I fired up your stove for a couple hours. I hope it's still warm in there when you get back. Kaisa is just going to stay with us tonight." _

 

"Thanks, Kira," he said to his empty home.

He opened up the grate to his stove, glad to see a couple of embers still glowing. From the metal can a few feet away, he grabbed a pine cone and some wood shavings. Then, he added a log and used his flint strike to get the fire going again. Once the comforting orange glow of firelight filled the room, Stiles began to strip out of his winter vestments. With great care, he removed his bear-pelt cloak, hanging it from a hanger suspended on his clothing rack. Next, came his coat, then a couple layers, until he was left wearing only a pair of thermal pants and a long sleeved shirt. He changed into one of the thick pairs of wool socks he wore to bed and pulled a knit beanie down over his head.

From his five gallon jug, he filled his tea pot with melted snow, adding a small handful of dried herbs to the basket. The warm liquid chased away the remaining cold in his bones. When he'd finished, he dressed for bed, pulling Derek's letter from his bag. He lit the candle in the jar on the milk crate next to his bed and cozied up under the blanket. The candle gave just enough light for him to read and be overwhelmed with Derek's words. He'd never have thought just from looking at him, that the man had such a romantic heart behind the gruff exterior.

 

> _ My love, my dearest cinnamon, _
> 
> _ Two weeks is far too long for us to be parted when your kisses have thawed a heart long left frozen, awoken dormant feelings I no longer believed I deserved. For too long, I had pushed away the dream, the thought, that I, too, one day might find a love like my parents had, a mate. I have spent years alone, barely alive. Each day, I would wake up. I'd breathe in, breathe out. I'd eat. Exist and that was it. _
> 
> _ Then there was you, and you made me feel like I could be more than I was. It is such a cliché, this idea of love at first sight. But I think I've loved you before I ever saw you, because you're the one whose scent brought my mind peace, made me feel like I belonged. _
> 
> _ When your lips first pressed against mine, that was the only romantic touch I'd felt in so long, had only experienced once before, and that had been so fraudulent. Of course, my love, you know this by now. You know well of my reticence when it comes to intimate affection. It is a funny thing, how one person's dishonest affection, can damage you. How this thing I've wanted for so long, I could now fear because of someone else. _
> 
> _ Yet, I am not afraid of loving you, of being loved  _ **_by_ ** _ you. I feel alive when I am with you, and every moment I am away from you, I think of the way my heart shivers in my chest when you are pressed close to me. I think of the safety I feel as I fall asleep in your arms (too rare an occurance I must add). I find my mind filled with your patience as I thaw. I know now, for as nervous as I was, as perhaps I still am, there is nothing I want more than to feel your bare skin against mine, to know the sounds you make as you come undone.  _
> 
> _ My love, my mate, I long to share the sacred union that comes from the bonding of two souls, my bite on your shoulder, your brand on my chest. Four days seems too long to wait, but soon I shall be with you, our hearts linked forever together. To hav- _
> 
>  

Stiles clutched at his heart, aching to read the rest of the letter that had been torn away. He reread the sweet words several times, committing them to memory. He wondered if Derek was wearing the pendant at the moment, if he could feel the thumbprint on the back pulse in time with Stiles' heart, wondered if he could tell from the way it pounded that his words had moved him to near tears. He hoped so. He hoped his heartbeat was saying he couldn't wait either, and that Derek understood him perfectly.

  
  


*******

  
  


Derek shivered when he walked into the school. In his haste to flee that morning, he'd forgotten that his bag in the woods only had a sweatshirt, pants and shoes, boots which were too thin to keep his feet warm for long. It was stupid to shift out of wolf form, but he needed a place to hide Stiles' gift. He couldn't let anyone know about it. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the lobby empty. His slippers and blanket were right where he'd left them near the front door, and the warm was a soothing presence when he wrapped himself up. The pouch, safe in his pocket, was well concealed. Derek wanted to retreat to his room to see what it contained. The curiosity was killing him. 

However, before he could sneak away, his mother walked into the lobby from the hall. He opened his mouth to apologize for just leaving, had spent several hours on the return trip formulating a response that would not be a lie, but would not divulge his whereabouts, when he felt a sharp sting across his cheek.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was? That storm could have dumped another six inches of snow, and look at you! You're practically frozen to the bone! Why would you leave like that? What could possibly be so important that you had to disobey my order? An order, mind you, that was made with everyone's safety in mind, including yours!"

He didn't have a good answer for that, and so he kept his eyes trained on the floor. He knew his actions that morning would not be well received, and he knew it was selfish to just run off like that, but he was desperate. More than anything, Derek wished he could just tell her the truth. He was in love, and every moment away from Stiles hurt like a thousand needles forcing their way into his skin. She'd never understand though, not after what Derek's last 'relationship' had cost the pack. Thinking about that only made him feel worse. He was a terrible son. "I'm sorry."

"You're always sorry, Derek. Do you think I like being this strict? I don't, but I have a responsibility as alpha of this pack, to keep everyone safe. They trust me, and I can't let them down. Not again."

Derek prayed the floor would swallow him whole. "You didn't let them down last time. That was me. Let's not call it anything other than what it was. I was a stupid kid." 

Her face twisted in what Derek had learned over the years was an expression of parental concern, concern he didn't deserve. "I'm sorry," she said pointing to his cheek. "I shouldn't have struck you; it was wrong of me. I just wish I understood you. You've always been too much like your father," he watched her lip quiver at the mention of his dad, "he never could stay inside for too long either. Dinner is just about ready. Why don't you go sit down?"

He nodded and started walking towards the cafeteria. To his dismay, the rest of the pack was already seated, and he felt every pair of eyes on him as he entered the room. Feeling tiny and with slumping shoulders, he curled in on himself. His usual seat was at the far end of the table. His mother sat at the head, Laura at the foot. Unfortunately for him, he sat across from his uncle, and that meant he bore the brunt of Peter's words. 

"Ah so nice of you to join us. Your conscious finally get the better of you?"

Derek said nothing, just stared down at the table. He didn't even notice when Laura slid a bowl in front of him until she elbowed him in the ribs. He glanced up and found a steaming helping of venison with canned carrots and rice. As was tradition, they all waited for his mother to sit and begin eating before anyone else took a bite. He pretended not to hear the grinding of Peter's teeth while he waited. 

He didn't really feel much like eating, not among his pack anyway, not where their displeasure at him once again failing to follow the rules hung in the air around him. Could he manage to excuse himself and take his meal with him without anyone noticing? Unlikely.

His mother's fork clattered against the table when she set it down. "So it has come to my attention that the woods near our territory lines smell more of humans than they have in a long time. Several of you have noticed this. This means they are growing bolder, perhaps hungrier, and it is only a matter of time before they disregard our borders completely. This is something I cannot allow. As some of you know, six months ago, Deucalion's pack was attacked in the woods inside their territory. They lost two wolves."

His blood boiled, but he was not alone. Several of their pack smelled of anger at the moment. He supposed he was the only one who was livid for a different reason. He knew the truth. The other pack wasn't innocent. They'd attacked first. Derek felt his bite of food stick in his throat. He forced it down with a gulp, where it hit his stomach like a brick. He was no longer hungry, his worry about Stiles more pressing than his dinner. He tried not to let it show, though.

"As you also know, the winter solstice is in three days. This is a time of great importance among magical humans as they can harness great power from a supernatural being on that night, and with the scent of ozone I have personally detected on the wind, on the eve of the solstice, no one will be allowed outside. It is just too dangerous, and we will guard all our exits."

His heart nearly broke. He'd already promised Stiles that he would find a way to make it to the celebration, and with it being less than a week away, there was no way to get a letter to Stiles. Each of them traveled to their meeting place only once a week. It pained him that he would have to disobey his mother yet again, but there was no way he couldn't attend. His heart couldn't take waiting until the summer solstice in order to be bonded with Stiles. 

"Also, I am closing off our territory to any further omegas. It is just too risky for any wolf to be in the woods outside of a protected territory right now. It's best we quit encouraging them." 

Even though he had no intention of seeking out an omega, his fork crashed to the table when he dropped it in shock. She didn't know about Stiles, but she had to know what closing off the territory meant for him. As far as any of them knew, he was the only uncoupled member of their pack now that Peter's son, Liam had Hayden. She was the last omega to seek shelter on their territory. The two of them had chosen each other months ago. 

Without saying a word, he stood and walked out. After about a dozen steps, he heard his mother following him, but he didn't care. This- It was just too much, and he needed to go hide and figure out a way to get out of the house for the solstice. Maybe he'd leave and just never come back. 

"Come on back, and we'll talk about this."

He kept walking.

"Derek."

Maybe if he hid in his room for a couple days, living off the food he'd stashed in a box filled with snow, he could sneak out the day before the solstice. Maybe then.

"Stop, Derek!"

He sighed. She wasn't going to let up until he spoke with her. So he turned around. "Did you stop to think about the implication of your new rule before you said it?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow"

He folded his arms across his chest. "Now that Hayden has found her way into our back, I am the only one without someone to love. Now that you closed off our territory, how am I supposed to find a mate?" He could feel the tears in his eyes. It didn't matter that he had Stiles. It was his fear she'd actually took his role as an unbonded wolf into account and made the ruling anyway. "Or was that the point, for me to become the pack monk? I mean at least then we can't possibly have a repeat of ten years ago." He wrapped his arms tighter around his middle, hugging himself because the only person who could make him feel better about all of this way too far away to offer comforting words as he held him. 

"How could you do that?" He took a shuddering breath. "You know, Mom, I can't actually remember the last time I got affection from  _ anyone.  _ in. this. pack. When any of you last hugged me, scented me.” He looked at her, sure his face gave away everything he was feeling, even though he wished it didn’t. “You've told us since we were young that werewolves are a tactile species, but none of you- Do you have  _ any _ idea how that feels?” he snapped. “The thoughts it puts in my-" His mouth clamped shut. There was no way he was going to cry in front of his mother. He already felt weak; he didn't need to show his vulnerability as well.

"Aside from Peter, who doesn’t shut his fucking mouth about my failures and takes every chance he can get to make me feel worse--frankly I'm surprised he hasn't killed me in my sleep already to steal my spark--no one else has been outright mean to me, just cold.” He clenched his jaw for a moment while he pulled himself back a bit; he didn’t want to lose control of his wolf and attack his mother. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that. “That doesn't mean I don't know you all blame me. I'm the pack pariah after all. You needn't; I blame myself enough,  _ hate _ myself enough all on my own!" When turned to walk away again, she spoke once more.

"I have eleven people in this pack to protect. I am doing that the  _ only _ way I know how. This isn't about you, Derek. You have to know that. This is-"

Without turning around to meet her disappointed gaze once more, he stared at a faded poster tacked to the wall. It reminded him that ‘ _ Kindness Matters. _ ’ How fucking ironic was that? That he was standing here having a conversation with his mom about the very same thing on any other day might have forced a pained chuckle from his lips. Not today. Today just hurt too much.

He shook his head and shrugged. "You're right. It isn't about me. It's about the fear that someone else will be as  _ weak _ as me, as weak as I was and bring more pain to this pack. That fear, even if you'd never admit it aloud, I sense it. A lot of wolves have come through the territory over the years, some staying. Even those that have shown interest in me, I have stayed away from. That's pretty strong on my part if you ask me. Especially considering the only time anyone has ever touched-" he felt his resolve crumbling, "and she was a thief." He licked his lips, hating how small he sounded, hated the wetness and emotion in his voice.

"It's just, well, Mom, it's getting to the point where waking up alone is killing me. Not that any of you would  _ ever _ notice. Whether indifference or cruelty it's kind of all the same in the end." Before he broke down completely, he rushed for the safety and solace of the library.

Once inside, he threaded the chain through the handles and clasped the lock through the link. For extra peace of mind, he jabbed the broom through the handles as well. He prayed the pack would continue to respect his boundaries, and then he retreated to his room. 

Over the years, he'd found dozens of candles, and though he shared many of them with the pack, he hoarded his own. The way the people of Beacon Hills worked together, bringing in supplies for the good of the town, his pack was not like that. They shared food and clothes, but with many other things it was every wolf for themselves. Now that he'd seen a better way of living, he hated the way their pack worked. The only time they ever cooperated like that was defending the territory.

No, he couldn't live like this anymore, not when he knew another way, not when he had a love waiting for him. 

He made up his mind and dug through his personal possessions, picking the most valuable of all of them. He loaded the backpack he used when he went searching for supplies with as much as he could fit. Then, when he was packed and ready to leave at a moment's notice, he snuggled into his blankets and pulled out the pouch Stiles gave him.

Inside, he found a necklace. "Wow." His fingers traced over the design with reverence. It was beautiful, and he tied the it around his neck. Its weight settled over his sternum, offering comfort. The sting of his mother's words, he found, were lessened by its presence. The bag also contained a letter, which he saved for last, and a little pouch.

As he took everything from the bag, Stiles' scent overwhelmed his nose, and his senses flooded with the memory of their last meeting. Feather light touches tracing along his lips. Gentle, yet calloused, hands cupped his face. He closed his eyes and let himself surrender to the feeling for a moment. The bag must have been spelled to conceal the scent of anything inside.

The longer he sat with one hand clutching the pendant and the other holding tightly to the pillow of blue silk, the more he felt the burden of his emotions lightened. And so, after many blissful minutes, he opened the letter.

 

> _ My dark wolf, _
> 
> _ I hope these gifts bring you the peace I want them to. The sachet is filled with herbs I selected on purpose for someone I love so dearly. Herbs like linden to free you from the sadness blocking your heart and leave more room for love, hyssop to help you get over the feelings of guilt, and marjoram  to heal the emotional cold gripping your heart _ . _ They are meant to make you feel like someone of worth, because that is how I see you. You're a treasure I didn't expect to ever find. I know we will be together in less than a week, but- Please. I miss you. Kaisa asks about you often. I just want to wake up next to you again. Your kiss is addictive; feeling your body pressed against mine under the covers is more so, and I imagine knowing the rest of your body will only make me want you more.  _
> 
> _ I can't wait to bond with you, to know you will be mine for the rest of my life. _

 

Derek stopped reading when he felt the pendant begin to throb against his chest. Though the beat was quick, it was steady.

> _ If you are wearing the necklace I made for you, and I hope you are, you will find I imbued it with magic. As it sits against your skin, you will feel my heart. Though we are apart, you can feel like I am right there beside you. If you press your thumb to the print of mine, I will be able to feel your heart. _
> 
> _ Until we can be together again, _
> 
> _ All my love, _
> 
> _ Stiles. _

 

He followed Stiles' instructions and held his thumb to the back of the pendant. Pulling the covers around his shoulders, he blew out the candles, and curled into a ball.

Lulled by the steady beating of Stiles' heart, he fell asleep in no time.

  
  
  



	7. Handfasting and Heart Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene 1 & 2: “Depth Over Distance”- Ben Howard  
> Scene 3: “Healeah Dancing”- Keaton Heston ft. Ren Ford  
>              “Mieleni Alenevi”- Värttinä  
> Scene 4: “For Now I Am Winter”- Ólafur Arnalds ft Arnor Dan
> 
> Content Warning: Scenes 3 and 4 contain ritualistic drug use as part of a religious ceremony. There is also sex while intoxicated, but it is consensual

Derek lifted a snow covered paw and scratched at the red metal door. He could hear someone inside; it sounded like Melissa and Kaisa. Soon, the familiar creak of the container door opening alleviated some of the tension in his body.

"Hi, Derek," Melissa said. He'd come by often enough in his wolf form for everyone in town to recognize him at this point. She bent down and fiddled with the saddlebag he'd stolen from his cousin the day after his mother's decree. It had enough room for him to pack anything he couldn't bear to be parted with and a couple changes of clothes, all while being perfectly suited to wear on his wolf form.

He had no intentions on giving it back.

Once she'd unbuckled the leather strap from under his stomach, she scratched his head between his ears. "Stiles is over in the greenhouse."

Before he could head out the door, he found himself bombarded with fifty pounds of excited nine-year old. "Derek! I missed you!" She rubbed his cheeks and, then, ran her fingers through his thick, ebony fur. He returned her affection by licking her nose, which earned him a giggle. "Do you want me to pet your tummy? Our Lumi _loves_ when you rub hers."

Well no, he really didn't, but her enthusiasm was hard to deny. So, he flopped onto his back and obliged her for about a minute.

"Sweetie, that's enough. He needs to get ready for the celebration."

With a reluctant whine, Kaisa backed off, and he was out the door, shuffling through the freshly fallen snow and bound for the greenhouse where he found Stiles as he exited the container, carrying a small basket. Before he could even move, a large, warm hand rubbed at his fur, and Derek nuzzled into it. As they stood outside that greenhouse, Derek felt warmed through and through for the first time in a long while.

"Come on. We need to get cleaned."

  
He'd never been here before, and as soon as he stepped foot inside (its doors much easier to open than the regular container doors), he stared, marveling at the simple beauty of it. Four large containers sat touching with their inner walls removed. Though he'd never asked, Derek wondered how the town had been able to cut through the thick and corrugated metal walls, wondered if they'd used a tool or maybe even magic. On top of those four, another four were stacked and given the same treatment, the ceiling cut away. Except for where rafters had been installed, he could look up and get an unobstructed view of the ceiling where its steeply pitched roofs were made from dozens of mismatched windows and translucent fiberglass panels--no doubt salvaged from abandoned homes and buildings--held together by a mix of materials. Long two by fours, painted in various shades, traversed the roof and supported the windows that had been nailed to them. Any space not covered by glass had been covered with plastic sheeting and grey tape to seal off drafts.

Rows and rows of planter boxes sat upon tables arranged in neat rows. The corner had several fruit trees, and still other plants Derek didn’t know, vined ones draped around the second level. Some potted plants even hung from chains looped around rafters. In the far corner, sat two large, blue tanks.

  
  
  


*******

 

Stiles eased into the metal tub, savoring the delicious way the hot water heated him from within. Once he was submerged as deeply as possible, he patted at the surface of the water, beckoning Derek to join him, but his boyfriend sat nervously on his hind legs, unwilling to shift yet. "It's important to the bonding ritual, Derek, but if you're uncom-"

With a splash, he found himself now sharing his bath with a wet dog. When Derek's head broke the surface, he had chamomile flowers stuck in his fur. Stiles plucked a few from the hair around Derek's face. "Shift back, please. I really want to kiss you." He breathed a sigh of relief when Derek's fur faded away to reveal an unblemished expanse of bare skin. They were alone in the showers and Stiles' audible gasp seemed to echo around them. He marveled in the sight of the sculpted muscle, lines of tendons in his arms and neck. As water droplets fell from Derek's eyelashes and the tip of his nose, Stiles found he could not look away. "You're-" His words failed him as he tried to find the right ones.

Derek pulled away, seemingly self-conscious or perhaps afraid Stiles didn't like what he saw. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

"Wow, you're- just wow." He cupped a hand behind Derek's head, fingers flexing in his wet hair, and pulled him closer.

The blend of herbs he’d added to the bath gave the water a strange taste, but Stiles licked along Derek's bottom lip nonetheless. After a moment or two, he saw him visibly relax in front of him, and strong hands came to clench the sides of the tub as Derek pressed his chest against Stiles'. He dropped his hand from Derek's hair and drew fingertips down his back with the lightest touch he could manage. Derek shivered, and though Stiles longed to forgo the solstice ceremony and take Derek back to his house, he still had enough control over himself to hold back. "The bath is important to the bonding ritual. It is for the two lovers to have a moment of respite, to clear their minds and relax their bodies."

"I haven't had a bath since I was a child. Not like this anyway."

Stiles smiled. "Each week's rations include two shower tokens. You can save them, choosing to wash up from a bucket at home, and trade ten of them in for a bath. That's what I like to do. I don't mind washing at home. This though, it helps keep me in tune with the spirit world."

Derek's hand came to rest on his chest, as he stared at the long healed scars with reverence, fingers close to the marred skin but not touching. "These- How did you..."

"Polar bear attack when I was fifteen. It's how I found the spirit world." He took in Derek's wide-eyed expression. "Almost killed me."

  
  
  
  
  


Derek couldn't rationalize Stiles having survived a polar bear attack even now that he was fully grown, let alone as an adolescent. Derek, himself, might have trouble living after that. Here in front of him, a human- or well, mostly human….never mind that. He dipped his hands below the water, seeking Stiles' waist to pull him close once more.

Stiles caught his hand. "They start here," he said, guiding Derek's fingers back to his chest, placing them just below the right side of his collarbone, "and they go all the way down here." He drew Derek's fingers down his torso to his eleventh rib.

"Do you... do you hide them?"

"No," Stiles said plainly. "I am not ashamed to have them. They made me what I am, and I'm proud of them. For ceremony, I am shirtless. I just wear my bear skin and paint my chest. These marks are on display for the whole town to see."

He took Stiles' face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. "You're beautiful," he said, feeling Stiles' skin flush with bashfulness under his fingertips. As he kissed him, Derek could hear his ragged intake of breath. If someone had asked him, he would have confessed that he felt the same, near breathless with the weight of emotion.

Stiles broke the kiss, one Derek desperately longed to continue, but when needs must. "Turn around." His words shook as they fell from his lips; his chest heaved.

"Why?"

  
  
  
  
  


He gave Derek a warm smile and grabbed a small bowl from the table near the bath. "I have to wash you, and you, me. This," he shook the bowl, "is a special scrub. It's made of sea salt from ocean ice I melted and harvested myself. I had to alter the herb blend, because, well you know, werewolf."

He swore he could feel Derek's soft chuckle in the marrow of his bones.

"It usually has mistletoe doesn't it?"

"Yeah. It's important to Pagan marriage rites, but I'd rather not cause you more pain than necessary." He scooped up a handful of the scrub and began to rub it over the skin of Derek's back.

"Planning on maiming me later?"

"Shh," he said as he planted a kiss to the back of Derek's neck. "No more than making my mark on your skin." He felt the vibrations of Derek's laugh through his skin, and they needled their way into his heart where they made themselves right at home with the rest of his emotions. It was a sensation he resolved to feel as often as possible.

 

*******

 

Derek swayed on his feet a little as all around him, the people of Beacon Hills celebrated. Though he'd seen this space on the docks many times over the years, he'd never understood its purpose until now. In the middle of the pit, or _juhlaympyrä_ as Stiles called it, the townspeople had built a bonfire from wood they'd all sought out to find. Every year, those that could, went into the forests in search of wood. They would contribute logs, which Stiles said were to represent their dead.

Derek wished he'd have known, because he would have loved to contribute one for his sister and father.

The night air was warmer than he'd anticipated, though a light breeze whirled around them, stinging the exposed skin of his chest when it made contact. Still, his belly was full, truly full, from the feast earlier, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had enough to eat. Sure, their pack subsisted, but his mother was adamant that food be strictly rationed, because they relied a lot on hunting, and who knew when the next meal would come.

The meal of fish and smoked meats, roasted root vegetables and kamut had gone down far too easy, and he had forgotten to savor every bite, wolfing it down for lack of a better word. He’d finally learned what those two blue tanks in the greenhouse contained, too: A fish farm. Stiles had told him how, when he was eight, a townsperson started laying shellfish traps whenever they went ice fishing. Rather than throw the shrimp back, they kept them and set up the tanks. Then, one day they were fishing before pulling up the traps and found a school of Pacific herring. So, every couple of months, the residents would get a couple of ration tokens for seafood.

Scott walked up to him, and with the pitcher made from an old flower pot in his hand, refilled Derek's cup. He'd never experienced the sensation of inebriation before. As a werewolf, he’ had always been, assumed that it was impossible for him to get drunk. Yet, Morrell was not only a very skilled Druid and former emissary but an experienced herbalist as well. She knew which blend of herbs to infuse in this batch of amaranth whiskey to allow all supernatural beings in town to partake in the revelry.

He brought the earthenware cup to his lips once more and took a long drink, savoring the way the nutty smokiness filled his mouth, the aroma wafting from the cup to his nose with ease. His fingertips had this fresh tingling in them that should have bothered him, but he found that, along with it, came lowered inhibitions. His immense sense of guilt seemed to flutter away on the wind, even only if for a night.

"You look a little lost." Scott spread his arms at the festivities. "I know this is a lot to take in, but we don't celebrate like this a lot. Just twice a year."

"No," Derek said as he watched couples, children, even the elderly dancing. On the far side of the pit sat four people, playing and singing songs foreign to his ears, some in languages Derek had never heard before, but he imagined that in a town settled by nomadic people, the convergence of different cultures had to be great, "I like it. I've- Music is not something I've heard much. My family, we're not musical. My little sister used to sing all the time, and after-" he took a quick drink from his mug. "No one wanted to carry on her legacy. This is nice." He licked his lips.

"If I were you, I'd go easy on the drink." Scott clapped him on the back. "It can pack a punch.”

Behind him heard a giggle and turned around to see Kaisa standing there, holding a ribbon tied to a painted stick. Most of the children in town had the same thing, and they twirled them in the air as they danced. "Your ears are crooked, Derek." She beckoned him down to her level and adjusted the wolf pelt he wore until the head had been straightened.

"How do I look now?"

"Much better. Not so silly."

"Well, at least I'm not the one wearing antlers." He flicked one of the tips of the caribou antlers on her hat.

"Hey! I made this myself." Her outrage was fleeting, and she grabbed his hand. "Come on. Come on, let me show you someone new." She practically ripped his arm out of socket as she pulled him from the fringes of the ceremony into the fray. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Stiles shaking his head with a smirk as he sat entrenched in deep conversation with Allison. And by deep, Derek was sure they were probably arguing over the best techniques for preparing caribou.

"Look," Kaisa squeaked, stopping in front of a man who had to be Derek's age or close to it. He stood, like Derek had, isolated from most of the revelry, looking far more lost than Derek felt. "This is Jordan. He's only been here two weeks," she said, holding up two fingers for emphasis. "He came from a long way away, because of Kyösti's be-" she stopped herself and straightened her posture. "Sorry, Stiles' beacon." She pulled Derek's hand until he bent down once more and whispered in his ear, "Stiles says I shouldn't use his name around new people. He says they'll say it wrong. I think he's silly. It’s a nice name.”

"Don't worry, Kai. I won't tell him."

"Promise?"

Derek nodded and that seemed to be enough reassurance for her. She turned attention back to Jordan. "Tell him about how you came here."

The man shrugged. Clearly, this was a story he'd been forced to tell often since he arrived. "There really isn't much to tell. I woke up one morning with the burning need to head North. I guess you could say I was drawn here. I don't quite understand it." For the briefest second, Derek swore the man's eyes flashed orange, but then again, he was a _bit_ inebriated. It could be the drink playing tricks on him. "So, I kept walking, the desire to find the Bear Beacon growing stronger each day."

"Jordan, this is Derek. He's gonna bond with my brother tonight. That's why I have these," she pointed to the rattles tucked into a braided belt at her waist. "I get to shake them when it's important during the ceremony." When she beamed up at him, Derek could see the newly missing tooth in her smile.

"Speaking of your brother, I'm going to go find him now. Do I still look okay." To his surprise, he was met with a tight hug. "So that's a yes?"

"You look handsome, just like Stiles."

He was pretty sure he blushed at her words. Not that anyone would be able to tell in the dark, or with the way his face and chest had been painted. Still, he left her with her new 'friend' and sought out his beloved.

Not even ten feet away from him, Stiles turned his attention away from Allison. "I see she made you meet Jordan too." Stiles stood and, almost like they were a pair of magnets, moved into Derek's space to wrap both arms around his waist. Stiles held on tightly for a few moments before moving the wolf head off Derek's forehead so he could plant a kiss on his feverish skin, kept shielded from the night air by the headdress. "Are you cold?"

"Not anymore."

"Smooth, Derek. Real smooth."

"I have my moments." Stiles covered his head once more. When first Derek had been told about his required attire for the evening, he felt his stomach lurch. The thought of wearing the pelt of a wolf made him uneasy, sort of like wearing the skin of his people. Yet, Stiles assured him the wolf had died a noble death. He'd been the one to end its suffering after he came across it nearly frozen to death and starving in the woods. Derek couldn't help but feel like it was a fitting metaphor for himself. Though he hadn't literally been either, he felt like he'd been freezing and hungry for years. Meeting Stiles had, indeed, ended some of Derek's suffering. After that, his reticence vanished almost instantly.

"I can't wait to be bonded to you. Once everyone finishes eating, we gather, I sing a song for the dead--I warn you, my voice is... well I'm no professional. But it _is_ my job.--then we pass around a drink of friendship. Then the ceremony. I had to change it up since I am conducting my own bonding, but we'll make do. Come. Dance with me." Stiles guided him closer to the fire, where its warmth and the crackle of the flames served as a comforting backdrop.

"Do you mind if I lead?" When Derek shook his head, Stiles took his hand and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling their bodies close together enough so that Derek could feel the warmth radiating from Stiles' skin. The song was a slow but lilting melody, hauntingly beautiful. "So," he said, his lips barely touching the shell of Derek's ear, "I know I talked about it a little, but the bonding- The two of us, we both drink from the same cup to end the ceremony. Its effects are well, they're intense. If you're worried about how your werewolf instincts will handle them, I can switch the drink out for a tea."

"No, I trust you. My wolf is very settled around you. I..." His mouth suddenly felt dry like the deserts he'd only seen pictures of in the encyclopedia set in the library. His heart pounded in his chest, but it was a good sensation, fluttering almost. He just needed a moment to contain himself. He moved the hand that had been resting upon Stiles' shoulder so that he could rub his thumb over Stiles' cheek, soft as to not disturb the painted lines upon his skin. He could do this, put into words just _how settled_ Stiles made his wolf. His lips had just brushed against Stiles' when he felt a surge of confidence.

He had no need for whispering; he did not care who heard him, though he doubted anyone would. "You make me feel at home. Whatever is needed for us to be truly bonded, I will do it without question," he paused, "unless it's some kind of human sacrifice. I have to draw the line there." Stiles' little chuckle cut the tension, and Derek cupped his face. "I take that back. _You_ are home to me. Before I met you, the only solace I could ever find was the peace I felt watching this town. Now, I know what it's like to have hope again. I'd do anything to protect you, Kaisa too, and I know you'd do the same for me." He pressed their foreheads together. "My wolf and I are one and the same. He feels safe with you, trusts you just like I do. You make me feel safe. Tonight," he licked his lips, "just- I want to feel cherished. Make me forget what it's like to hate myself."

Stiles made a sound in the back of his throat, something akin to a whimper, and wrapped his hand around the back of Derek's head, guiding it down to rest upon his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around him, and Derek centered himself by trying to breathe in time with him. "I can do that. I can make you feel loved."

  
  
  
  


The music and commotion around them began to die down, and Stiles, as loath as he was to do it, dropped his arms from around Derek's shoulders. He looked around to see his fellow townspeople moving to encircle the fire, leaving a space at the North corner free. He gestured to the free space, and Derek walked beside him. "You're going to stand here," he moved him into position, and picked up his drum, kept safe by Melissa. "Thanks, Mel."

She stood and wrapped him in a tight embrace. "I'm so happy for you. I wish your parents could be here."

"Me too," he choked up a bit as he thought about the hole in his heart his parents' deaths had left. His fingers traced the symbol for family on the drum head. He'd made this drum himself, painstakingly burning each symbol into the caribou hide. Near the top, a new set of pictures had been made. They matched the ones he'd burned into the necklace he made for Derek, the one currently hanging from around Derek's neck, and a burst of affection surged through his veins.

Slowly, the circle came together, and everyone joined hands. He gripped his drum and hammer tightly, stepping back from the group. "Tervetuloa, welcome. By now most of you know how this works, but I see some new faces," he winked at Derek. "This is our _talvipäivänseisaus juhla_ , or celebration for the winter solstice. We've had it every year since I first visited _henkimaailmaa_. That's the spirit world for those of you that are new, and you should consider yourselves lucky to have missed the first few years. I, am by no means, a great singer, but almost everyone here had to put up with my singing during the tail end of puberty. It was," embarrassed, he scratched his eyebrow, smacking himself in the nose with his drum hammer in the process, "ouch. Anyway, it was probably ear murder, but I think I have this down to an art at this point. We have a feast, and I know it's not much, especially for those of us who were old enough to have celebrated Thanksgiving before the freeze. I don't remember it, but I heard stories of the great banquets, eating so much you couldn't button your pants anymore. While this is nowhere close, we do get extra food tonight without having to worry about rations. Plus for those of us who can, there is Morrell's--the new residents may know her better as Marin, but she prefers you to use her surname, Morrell--anyway, I hope you've enjoyed the whiskey she and the lovely Lydia have distilled for you. It took them a few years to figure out the best blend, but we are grateful to have it on special occasions such as tonight, births, funerals, weddings. Tonight we get two of those, so it's extra special.

"When we built this pyre tonight, each of us contributed pieces of wood to serve as effigies for those we've lost, and this song I'm about to sing is not traditional. I wouldn't know where to begin to find those, but I remember my mother liked it and sang it often. It's appropriate for tonight, and even though only two of us here will understand the lyrics, this is our song to the dead." He signaled to Danny, who began to play a little song on his tin whistle. As Stiles started his slow drumming and chanting, he walked around the circle, stomping his foot to keep the beat.

 

" _Miun ei laulella ei pitäisi_

 _laulujani laitella ei ollenkaan..._ "

  
  
  
Derek couldn't take his eyes off Stiles as he danced around the circle, his hammer striking the drum head as he spun in little circles. The drum was like an extension of his arm, swooping back and forth with Stiles' movements. His head bobbed in time with the song, the head of the polar bear pelt seemed to come to life as the song went on. It was as though, Stiles once more became one with his bear spirit. Every so often, Derek could see Kaisa toss a handful of something onto the fire, and then the flames would change colors, sending a rainbow of light dancing into the night sky, like the Northern Lights he'd read about. In her other hand, she shook a rattle to add to the song.

The bells adorning the sash across Stiles' chest and tied to his boots rang with each step. Just like that night in the forest, the night they met, Derek could see the icy blue aura surrounding him, taking the shape of his animal guide.

Stiles was breathtaking.

_“Ajattelen aikojani_

_näitä huolia huolittelen_

_Ajattelen aikojani_

_näitä huolia huolittelen...”_

 

Derek was sure he was holding his breath throughout the whole song, because when Stiles finished the last words, Derek felt lightheaded. After several deep breaths, he managed to find his legs again. He’d never seen the rest of Stiles’ magic, always assumed it was tied to blood only. Yet, that spectacle had nothing to do with what he knew about his boyfriend’s power.

For Derek’s sixth birthday, Uncle Peter thought it had been a good idea to hire a magician for his party. Derek remembered watching, skeptical even at six years old, thinking the performer was a fraud. There was no way The Great Gambo was really magic, because Derek had seen some magic before, having snuck in to watch a meeting between his mother and local witches. He knew what real magic was, and that magician was not _really_ powerful. But Stiles, that _was_ real. He’d seen with his own eyes, watched the way the flames cast colorful light on Stiles’ skin, on the faces of everyone in town.

Stiles’ voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Now we shall join together and share this tea for friendship and close community. It’s nothing crazy, just lavender, rosemary and lemon. We finally, after almost twenty years, ran out of honey. So, it’s a little bitter. Sorry. We will introduce ourselves as we go around, too.” He pointed to his chest, “I’m Stiles. As you can probably tell, I’m the town Shaman. I was born into this position after my mother, rest her soul, partook in an ancient ritual surrounding childbirth. It said that she would know no pain, but in turn each night would become a monstrous beast. That was a bit of an exaggeration. She simply became a wolf. It’s a long story. If you should need any kind of spiritual guidance, I am now the only person in town to see for that. However, if you are new, and happen to have been a member of any type of clergy before the freeze, congratulations, boy have we got a job for you.” Laughter broke out among the group over his words. Then, he took a drink from the large mug and passed it to Derek.

“I’m Derek. I’m new-ish,” he licked his lips, “Uh, what else do I say, Stiles?”

“Tell a bit about yourself, who and what you are.”

“I’m a werewolf, always have been. Became an alpha at fifteen, and subsequently became the black sheep of my family. Family,”  he gave a nervous chuckle, “my pack. I left them recently and will be bonding with this wonderful man next to me later in the ceremony. I grew up in a library, literally. So if you need someone to curate your book collection, I am an expert at the Dewey Decimal System.” He, like Stiles before him, drank from the mug and passed it to the person on his right.

Stiles placed a hand on the small of his back, instantly grounding him in the present. “You okay?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just-”

“I know.” Stiles leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

One by one, the people of Beacon Hills introduced themselves and their families. When the mug finally came to Jordan, Derek noticed that the man still looked uncomfortable like he had when Kaisa introduced them.

“I’m Jordan. I came from the remains of what used to be Big Bear down South. I don’t know why I’m here, but I have this odd feeling that this is where I’m supposed to be. Where I lived, I helped with burning the dead. That’s my skill.” He looked down at the ground, and though the fire roared, Derek could hear the telltale sniffle of a man whose story was much more than he dared admit.

When everyone had finished, Stiles pulled him to a little platform in the corner where Scott held a blue and white cord. On the ground beside him was a small teapot, and Derek could see tendrils of steam rising out of the spout. Stiles maneuvered him into position, standing so they could face each other. “This would be a lot easier if there was someone else to perform the ceremony duties, but here goes. Scotty is going to help me. Make sure you tell him what a good job he did when he’s done. He is absolutely positive that he is going to screw this up.”

  
  
  
  
  


Stiles took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. “Derek, can I have your hands?” When Derek obliged, Stiles grabbed, first Derek’s left hand with his left, then he repeated with their rights hands so that their arms were crossed in front of them between their bodies.

Scott took a step forward and cleared his throat. “Stiles and Derek, as you’ve joined your hands, so shall you join your lives. You will hold each other, help and support one another, love each other.” Scott shook out the cord and wrapped it around their joined hands, symbolically binding them together. "If you could repeat after me-”

“Who goes first?” Derek asked.

“We speak at the same time,” Stiles said, giving Derek’s hands a soft squeeze.

“I, Stiles or Derek, promise that I will love and respect you, make you laugh and hold you when you cry. When you are hurting, I will softly kiss your wounds. I will be your friend and companion on this journey together. I promise that I will be your loving mate, bonded in soul and body from this day forward.”

Stiles’ cheeks hurt from smiling as he and Derek recited Scott’s prior words in unison. When they finished Scott fumbled with a metal canister until he managed to get it open.

“This is- I forget what Stiles calls it, but it is the next step on your journey,” he said, dipping his thumb in the paste. Then, he stepped forward and smudged a line across Derek’s forehead. Next, he did the same to Stiles, “and it symbolizes a long life.” He untied their hands then crouched down and poured liquid into a cup. “Lastly, this-” he gagged. “Oh my God, Stiles. This smells terrible.”

Stiles threw his head back and cackled. “If you think it smells bad, you should be happy you don’t have to drink it. It tastes worse.” He looked over at Derek, who he could tell was trying to breathe through his mouth. “Yeah, sorry about it.”

Scott’s next words were distorted in sound as he spoke, holding his nose to save his delicate werewolf sensibilities from the offending odor. “It smells so bad, I have forgotten what it’s for.”

“You’re fired, Scotty. I’ll take it from here. This tea,” Stiles said, lifting the cup, “is the finishing touch on the ceremony. As we are both somewhat or entirely supernatural, it is a necessary step to complete the bond.” He brought the cup to his lips, drinking about half of it. Its taste, he had long since grown accustomed to, as it was one he drank a few times a year in some iteration in order to stay in tune with his shamanic duties.

What once was a foul, almost rotten flavor, had taken on one of earthiness to his taste buds. He blamed the mushrooms which made up most of the mixture. The other herbs had a way of mellowing the flavor. When finished, he set the cup into Derek’s open palm. His love, the true champ (or martyr) that he was drank it sans complaint, with nary a grimace announcing the unpleasant taste.

“Now, before you both start seeing things, friends and loved ones, fellow residents of Beacon Hills, I present to you the joined couple.”

 

Stiles held onto Derek’s hand like a lifeline as they walked among the group, accepting well wishes and hugs. It was late in the evening, and festivities usually started to wind down at this point. They stepped away from the crowd, and he’d just pulled Derek in for a kiss when Kaisa came bounding over to them, kicking up snow as she ran.

She crashed into their bodies, her arms stretched out wide as she tried to hug them both at the same time. “You’re our family for real now Derek.”

Though Derek tried to hide it, Stiles could see the way her words made his eyes glisten. “I know. I’m really happy to be part of your family, too,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, the puffy pink ball on her hat hitting him in the nose as he did.

Stiles knelt down so he could be eye-level with his sister and hugged her tightly. “You know this doesn’t mean he’s taking your place,” he mumbled into her coat, “you are still my number one, right?”

Kaisa pushed away from him and poked him in the nose. “Yep.”

“That’s a relief. For a minute there, I thought you were kicking me out of the house.”

Her giggle would always be one of his favorite sounds in the world. It had this lilting quality, far louder than someone so small should be able to laugh, but it just got to him. It could brighten even his most miserable days. “You’re silly, Kyösti.”

“Shh!” he held a finger to his lips. “You’re going to blow my cover. My codename is Stiles,” he said with a wink. “Remember, you’re staying at the old house tonight. Don’t stay up too late.”

“En aio. Mä rakastan sua.”

“Mäkin sua, Hiironen.”

She scampered off to find Melissa, and Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand again. Now alone, they walked hand and hand back to Stiles- well, he supposed, it was _their_ home now.

  
  
  
  
  


*******

 

By the time they climbed the stairs and stepped inside, Derek could already feel the effects of the tea working on him. He hadn’t asked the contents, but he assumed in order to affect him, it must contain wolfsbane of some form. Not that he was complaining. Not at all.

The apartment was far warmer than he anticipated it would be, which he supposed was a good thing, as he watched Stiles shed his bear skin. It went back on its peg- the Peg of Reverence as Stiles called it. Long and slender fingers, next reached over to lift the one Derek wore off his head, cold fingertips brushing against the skin of his forehead. Before Stiles could move away to stow the wolf pelt back in its box, he caught his wrist and kissed his knuckles. When Stiles flexed his fingers, Derek nuzzled his cheek into Stiles’ open hand.

With a smile, and eyelids fluttering closed, he pressed an open mouthed kiss to Stiles’ palm, moving then to trail kisses up his arm before pulling him in close. Stiles shivered against him, both their chest bare, skin frigid. The languid pace he was setting, didn’t seem to be enough for Stiles, whose large hands cupped his face.

In that moment, Stiles kissed him like he was freezing to death and Derek was the only fire he’d known in a long time. Derek could see the desperation in his eyes, that need to just lose himself in another person. For the first time in years, maybe even his whole life, Derek felt the same. Their emboldened tongues moved against one another, and hands just as eager, struggled to rid them of any remaining clothes.

A wave of dizziness overtook him for a moment, his mouth felt a bit fuzzy. Derek opened his eyes and gasped, drawing Stiles’ attention away from the drawstring of his pants. “What?”

“I can see your bear. It’s...” he was at a loss for words. The blue hue surrounding every inch of Stiles’ frame was nothing like it had been the night they met in the the forest. This time, it didn’t make him look larger than he was, more intimidating, and it didn’t look powerful. Derek blinked, taking in Stiles’ appearance. Thin outlines of aquamarine highlighted his face, giving his features an ursine appearance, yet he was still- “ethereal.” He reached out his hand, tracing each line.

Stiles nodded. “You too, but it’s red, your wolf,” he said, touching the air above Derek’s head. “There are these pointy ears right here.” His hand dropped down to curl fingers in Derek’s hair, and Derek felt like he was melting.

He dropped his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder as Stiles’ nails raked against his scalp. All Derek had to do was turn his head...just a bit, and-

He sucked a mark into the skin just over the pulse-point of Stiles’ neck, drawing a whimper from him. “You taste like blue,’ he mumbled against his throat, “like frost and the night sky.” And fuck, did he taste like blue!  He smelled like thunder. Unable to stop himself, Derek continued kissing down his neck to his collarbone. _There_ , he tasted yellow, like sunshine and a wandering spirit. “Oh my, God,” he groaned, knees weak, and senses overloaded, “your breath sounds like a daydream.” He stepped back and looked at him, eyes wide with awe. “Your heart...”

Stiles brushed a thumb over Derek’s lower lip. “What about my heart?”

“It’s beautiful. I can see it pumping blood all through your body right now,” he said, his words a bit slurred, either from drink or from entheogen, Derek couldn’t be sure, but probably from the latter. His hand cupped the back of Stiles’ head, and once more crashed their lips together. “What was in that tea, because this is the greatest feeling I’ve had in my life?” he asked, near breathless between kisses.

“My own special blend. Helps me see things.”

Derek nodded. “I can see the universe right now. It’s immense and tiny all at once, and, and-” his chest heaved as the effects of the tea spread the rest of the way through his body. His skin buzzed with electricity, and he watched, as his wolf, merely an aura right then, scampered around the room, frolicking with Stiles’ polar bear. He could hardly breathe. More, he definitely needed more.

Stiles’ hand, febrile by now, wrapped around him, stroking him in such fluid movements, he could actually feel time slowing to a crawl around them. He tried to return the favor, but his hands felt all kinds of wrong, like perhaps they weren’t even there. He stumbled, trying to step backwards and guide them towards the bed. Standing, Derek’s intoxicated mind reasoned, was too much work, and the horizontal plane was so much more appealing. “Stiles, I, I-” Fuck, he couldn’t even think straight, his mind recalling the beautiful music from earlier, music, he could now see in vivid technicolor. “Stiles, I want, I-”

“What do you need?” Stiles whispered, taking Derek’s earlobe between his teeth to nip at the skin.

Everything was too much and not enough all at once, and he let his head loll back to bare his throat, his mouth hanging open while he panted for air. As soon as Stiles licked a stripe from his collarbone back to his ear where he repeated his question, Derek was fairly certain his body was dissolving into vapor. “Please,” his voice barely more than a whisper.

As soon as the words left his lips, whatever seemed to be holding Stiles back, gave way, and he pushed them towards the bed, mouth never leaving Derek’s. Almost tripping over his feet was a new feeling for Derek, even when backing up, but urgency mixed with the tea had a way of messing with his coordination. The back of his legs hit the platform on which Stiles’ mattress sat, and he tumbled onto the blankets, bringing Stiles down with him. They’d been in a similar situation before, with Stiles lying on top of him while they kissed. Nevertheless, Derek always forgot that he was heavier than he looked. When Stiles crashed down onto him, all his breath left with an audible huff.

Stiles, however, was undeterred from his mission to seemingly cover every inch of Derek’s body with kisses, speaking words of affection into his skin with each press of his lips. The vibrations Stiles’ sentiments made coursed through his body. He felt the shockwaves they left behind, deep within the marrow of his bones, and- “Oh fuck!” He blacked out for a minute as Stiles swallowed him down, only coming back to his senses when he felt Stiles nose brush against his lower stomach. He was so lost in the way Stiles’ head bobbed with fluid movements up and down that he barely registered Stiles’ hand slipping between his legs, fingers circling his rim, until he felt the familiar pressure of one pushing inside him.

He may have been abstinent for ten years, but he wasn’t dead. He knew how to take care of himself, make it feel fantastic as he came undone. Just- fuck! It was so much better to have Stiles making him fall apart at the seams. His back arched off the bed on its own accord, when one finger became two inside him. Each little twist of Stiles’ wrist, each movement of fingers had him writhing on the bed. He knew where his prostate was, had long since figured that out, but to say he saw stars when Stiles’ fingers brushed against it, was not good enough.

No, his body was a volcano, and every time Stiles made contact, the lava spread, white hot and blinding throughout his veins. “P...pl...please,” he spluttered.

With a smirk and a quirked eyebrow, Stiles pulled out his fingers. Perfect timing too, because the brief respite gave Derek a chance to catch his breath and come back from the edge. Once more, Stiles lay on top of him, his body a heavenly weight on him, pressing him deeper into the bed. After a moment, Derek’s brain came back on line, and he asked, “How do you want me?” with a raspy and wrecked voice.

Stiles didn’t say a word, simply kissed him for a minute, before he sat up, pulling him onto his lap. As he fumbled around on the bed, his free hand cupped the back of Derek’s neck, fingers drawing little circles on his skin. “How did I find someone like you?” he asked, kissing the hinge of Derek’s jaw.

“I dunno,” and fuck, Derek was already breathless again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles’ hand finally close around a small bottle, and Stiles opened the lid to add more to his hand. Some kind of oil no doubt. Watching Stiles slick himself up, should not have been as hot as it was. Derek almost came from the sight alone. When Stiles seemed satisfied, Derek scooted forward, lifted his hips, and slowly sank down onto him, thighs trembling with each inch deeper he took him.

He looked down to see Stiles, eyes screwed shut and panting. “You feel amazing.” His fingers gripped too tightly on his hips, but Derek didn’t care. This was entirely a new feeling; with only his fingers to satisfy himself over the years, he’d never been so full.

After a moment to adjust, he began to move, rolling his hips a little while Stiles thrust beneath him. He could feel the little bruises Stiles’ fingertips were leaving on his hips, and he could feel the moment they healed. He couldn’t think anymore, though, and just let go.

When his head lolled back, Stiles went straight for his neck. Somewhere in the room, Derek could hear the aural projection of his wolf preening and its smug little growl of satisfaction.

But it wasn’t long until the lazy pace they’d set was not enough. “Too slow,” he panted as Stiles nipped at the skin of his neck.

“So impatient.”

Still, when Stiles didn’t give in, Derek took matters into his own hands, rising up and slamming back down at a furious speed, until his legs ached. A sheen of sweat covered both of them, leaving little trails through the paint on their chests.

Stiles was saying something, but he couldn’t understand a word, his head too hazy with ecstasy.

When his rhythm started to falter, Stiles reached his hands up to cradle his face, and he leaned into the touch. “Still with me?”

“I..uh...always,” he panted, holding onto him tightly, sure his fingers would leave bruises behind. Though his bed felt like it was on fire, a familiar coldness spread up from his toes. “‘m close.. Just li-”  his words were cut off as his orgasm tore through him. He dropped his head down and clamped his teeth into the skin of Stiles’ shoulder.

“Oh fuck!” Stiles yelled out and after a few thrusts more, he came too.

Derek felt the moment Stiles pressed his palm to the skin over his heart, and though he’d been told to expect it, the searing heat was far more painful than he’d anticipated. That was, until, the initial burn gave way to something like electricity crackling through him. When he looked down at him, Derek could tell by the look in his eyes that Stiles felt it too.

They clung to each other, both shaking, every nerve ending alight as their bond finalized.

Finally, when he could move again, Derek pulled off him and flopped onto the bed, still fighting to catch his breath. There was a moment soon after that, when he thought for sure he’d passed out, because the next thing he noticed was the feel of Stiles’ lips against his own.

“That was...I have no words.”

“Yeah,” he said stroking Stiles’ cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Stiles took a few moments more to calm down before he stood and tugged on his shoes.

“Where are you going?”

“Put on your shoes and wrap yourself up.”

So Derek obliged him, but instead chose to shrink down into his wolf form.

“That works too. Come on.” They ventured outside and climbed onto the roof to sit in front of the Bear Beacon. Derek curled up in Stiles’ lap, relishing in the feel of strong arms wrapped around his body. “Look up.”

Derek craned his head skyward, where he could see ribbons of color dancing in the sky.

“It’s not real, just the tea, but I like to pretend it is. My mom used to speak of the Northern Lights, and I never thought I would get to see them. This is the best I can do.”

He sat back on his haunches and nuzzled against Stiles’ neck, drawing a shiver from him as his nose, was no doubt, wet and cold. He looked down at the mark on Stiles’ shoulder, still bleeding a little, and laved his tongue over it.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt. It feels nice and warm though. How is yours?”

The mark itched as the burn was slowly healing. Soon, it would just be like a brand on the skin. Since he couldn’t speak in this form, he did the best _he_ could, and pressed his nose to Stiles’, before once more taking his place in Stiles’ lap.

And so, the two of them sat, eyes trained skyward as they waited for the effects of the tea to wear off, neither one feeling cold in the slightest.

  


 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnish in this chapter:  
> talvipäivänseisaus juhla- Winter Solstice celebration  
> juhlaympyrä- celebration ring  
> Tervetuloa- Welcome  
> En aio. Mä rakastan sua.- I won’t. I love you  
> Mäkin sua, Hiironen.- me too little mouse.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"Miun ei laulella ei pitäisi_
> 
>  
> 
> _laulujani laitella ei ollenkaan..."-_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Ajattelen aikojani_
> 
>  
> 
> _näitä huolia huolittelen_
> 
>  
> 
> _Ajattelen aikojani_
> 
>  
> 
> _näitä huolia huolittelen...”_
> 
>  
> 
> Are lyrics from the song. Their English translation can be found [here](http://varttina.com/discography/vihma/mieleni-alenevi/)


	8. On a Paw and a Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene 1 & 2: “Push the Sky Away”- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds  
> Scene 3: “Minä Laulan Lapselleni”- Viola Uotila  
> Scene 4: “Change (In the House of Flies) (Acoustic)- Deftones
> 
> Content Warning: Chapter includes discription of graphic injury

Talia’s roar shook the glass and Laura ducked as another trashcan flew in her direction. Unfortunately for Peter, he was not quick enough and the metal bin struck him in the chest, knocking him over.

“I told you, Mom, I don’t know where he is. He didn’t tell me anything.”

Talia’s shoulder’s slumped forward; her whole posture sagged. She stood there with heaving bosom, both seething with rage and heart aching with worry. “You said the window latch was broken open! What if they stole him from his room? It wouldn’t be the first time hunters trespassed and attacked our home.” Where was her son? She couldn’t do this again, could not survive losing a child again.

She looked up at her daughter’s placating palms, outstretched in submission. 

“No, I said the window was propped open. Jackson is missing a bag. The library doors were locked from the inside, but from what I could see through the windows, there had been no one else in there besides Derek.”

“Then where is he?” she yelled, fangs bared. “It’s been five days. Liam and Hayden ran themselves ragged yesterday. There was no trace.” She welcomed her daughter’s hug when Laura wrapped her arms around her, but she also wanted answers. Still, after a week of high emotion, she was worn thin. All that waiting for Derek’s moment of rebellion to wear off, for him to come home like he always did, looking contrite at worrying her, but his eyes showing the intent to do it again. And  _ this _ is precisely why, of her thre- two children, he was the one who just shouldn’t have alpha powers.

He was stubborn, curious to a fault- Why did he like to explore so much? Why couldn’t he have just listened for once when she gave an order? She made the rules for the good of the whole pack, not to punish him. Why, out of all nights to need to “stretch his legs” or whatever he called it, did it have to have been on the solstice? The woods- “What if someone grabbed him in the woods? We are never going to find him now, and I can’t-” her voice cracked, “I can’t lose another child, Laura.” Talia sank to the floor, sobbing. 

“The last time I spoke to him we argued. I can’t-”

Her daughter’s grim face just made things worse when she knelt in front of her. “Mom,” she said taking her hands, “do you want us to go out looking for him again? Though he’s always been a pain in my butt, he is my baby brother.”

“Yes. Why don’t you take Isaac, Erica and Boyd? You four can search the Eastern half of the territory.” Talia turned and addressed her brother, “Peter, take your family and search West.”

She watched as Laura rattled off orders to Erica and Boyd before speaking to her mate. “Isaac, you talk to him more than I do. Is there anywhere special he likes to go that he doesn’t tell anyone about?”

Isaac fiddled with the yellow scarf around his neck, tying it securely after he buttoned up his coat. “There is this cave he mentioned once. Never did tell me where it was though. It’s North. That’s all I know.”

“Then you and I, we’ll search North.”  She shifted into her wolf, pushing her clothes towards Isaac with her muzzle.

  
  
  
  


Peter groaned inwardly. Why not just let the kid deal with it? He’d made his bed. Let the brat lie in it. His sister may have been upset that her son seldom followed the rules once he gained his alpha spark, but to Peter it was just pathetic. Derek should have grown a spine and said ‘ _ Mother, I am an alpha. I will make my own decisions. I will make my own pack. We can share the territory.’ _

That’s what  _ he _ would have done anyway. Why couldn’t he have been the one to take out that rogue alpha a decade ago? To be honest, he probably would have managed to save Cora if he had. Why should a kid whose poor decision making cost the pack two people, be rewarded with such a gift?

It was ridiculous. That’s what it was.

And now, he had to spend yet another day out looking for someone who clearly did not want to be found. With far less fervor than his sister probably wanted from him, he directed his children and their girlfriends to search their territory. His wife could search the woods North of the rivers, the part that lie in the valley. He would just take his sweet time heading down the coast.

If only he could full shift. It would be less work.

  
  
  
  


*******

 

Peter skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Twenty minutes ago, he’d caught the barest hint of Derek’s scent and followed it with fervor. Now though, he stood at the point where the incline leveled out, sniffing around as he tried to find it again.

The wind blew from the West, so for all he knew, the breeze had carried it for quite a while.  _ Think, Peter. Where would you go if you were Derek? _ Groaning, he scrubbed a hand down his face. How the hell should he know where Derek went? The kid rarely said a word to anyone in the family.

Peter, well  _ all _ of them had been looking for his loner of a nephew for the better part of the week, and he for one, was sick of it. Let the kid come back with his tail between his legs when he felt like it. 

But, if Peter were the one to bring him or news of his location back, then  _ he _ would look like the hero. Maybe then, his sister would realize he was a better second than Laura, more than capable of protecting the pack. Oh, who the hell was he kidding? No matter how badly Derek disobeyed his alpha, no matter what he did, Peter would always be the black sheep of the family.

With a shout of frustration, Peter kicked a rock off the ground in front of him, sending it flying towards a rotted out tree trunk that lay fallen on the forest floor about ten yards away. He’d booted the stone--which was far heavier than he anticipated--with such force that it tore a hole into the wood. When the dust settled, Peter, chest heaving in anger, took a deep breath. The source of Derek’s scent flooded his nostrils.

Let it never be said that Peter was not a curious sort of werewolf.

So, he trampled through the snow to the log. Peering inside, he found nothing. Well, he wasn’t sure what he expected, but he was also rather fastidious when it benefited him. He rolled the trunk out of the way to inspect the ground below, finding nothing. Still, he continued his search around the area, because Derek’s scent was all over this log, layered in varying degrees of strength. His nephew had come here many times. 

But, what was that?

He inhaled again, and the unmistakable scent of another person hit his olfactory glands. Another person  _ and _ Derek.

With renewed zeal, he pawed through the snow and surrounding banks until a bit of paper caught his attention. With snow crusted gloves, Peter pulled it free. It was an envelope made from a folded sheet of paper, the way he’d seen Derek do on occasion (teaching himself from some ridiculous book he found in the library, no doubt).

“Who or what the hell is a Stiles?” Peter groaned, reading the text on the paper. He opened it up, finding it empty. Well damn. Now what?

Just then, the wind blew, and a rustling noise caught his attention. Following the sound, he saw a scrap of paper caught on tree bark. By the looks of it, it had been torn from a larger sheet. When he plucked it from where it was stuck, the only scent upon it was Derek’s. He turned it over in his hands and was furious as he read.

 

> _ -e your love forever, my sweetest friend, I would leave my pack and make a new home with you in your town. My heart, there is nothing you could not ask of me, for you are the spark, the fuel, and flame in my veins. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ With love, unconditionally, _
> 
> _ Derek _ .

 

Peter crunched the paper in his fist. This was the proof he needed. Derek was an ungrateful brat who did not deserve anyone in their pack’s time to find if he could not spare them the common courtesy to say he was leaving in the first place. By simply being out searching for him, the whole pack was risking their lives. The weather was a fickle thing, conditions changed often. How dare he put them all in harm’s way for silly romance! 

He was just about to turn and head home to break the news, which would surely break his sister’s heart, when he heard it: A soft voice.

Ducking behind a tree, he waited for the person to pass by, listening intently all the while.

“Do you think Derek will like it?” the voice belonged to a girl, that much Peter could tell, but she wasn’t alone. She was with...another wolf? Was Derek so bent in abandoning his pack, that he’d just turn others right and left to build his own? It was foolish enough a plan to come from his nephew.

“I think so. You know he’d like anything you give him.” This voice, the wolf, was that of a man. He sounded about the same age as Jackson. 

“But I want it to be perfect. I already made one for Stiles, and-”

Peter quit listening. Stiles was a person, that much he knew, but Stiles-whoever they were-had stolen Derek away from his pack, and Peter’s wolf saw red. He felt the shift come over him, and with a snarl, a growl building in his chest, he moved out from behind the tree and descended upon them.

  
  


*******

 

Derek looked up from where he and Stiles stood outside Melissa’s home, splitting wood for her to use for the week. Stiles recognized that look in his eyes; it was the one he got when he was in deep concentration, listening to a far off sound. “What is it?”

“Not sure yet. It’s too far, but getting closer.” He grabbed the axe and once more drove it through a chunk of wood, cleaving it into two smaller logs which he tossed onto the heap. His pile was considerably larger than Stiles’.

“Show off.” Stiles took two more chops to get through the log he’d been working on. Though he’d never admit aloud, he liked this chore. The monotony of it gave him time to think about all sorts of things without worry. If he wanted to think about caribou happily munching on lichen they found on open plains, well then he could. No one could stop him.

Today, his mind was reliving the way Derek looked when Stiles showed him to his new job within the community: Librarian. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Mr. Yukimura so happy to have help in his life. Teaching was one thing, the man had said, but curating their small collection of books was not something he enjoyed nor knew much about. Derek gave him an ear splitting grin and went to town, rearranging the volumes based on topics and author, even offering suggestions on where they might find more books. He’d stressed that many had been burned for fuel, but there were places some survivors never thought to check.

Derek seemed in his element there, and Stiles had watched, enraptured, as Derek implemented storytime for the kids, merely two days after joining their town. It warmed his heart to see his mate accepted so readily into the fold. Perhaps it was because he was a respected member of the town, or--and he liked to think it was this reason--Derek was much softer hearted than appearances would suggest, and a little kindness went a long way.

The clatter of Derek’s axe as it hit the container wall shook Stiles out of his thoughts. He looked at him, nostrils flared, metaphorical hackles risen in concern, and something harsh settled into the pit of Stiles’ stomach. “What?”

“Someone’s hurt. Smells like blood and fear, and-” he stopped abruptly and began running down the deck of the barge for the stairs up to the dock with Stiles hot on his heels. 

“Slow down! You don’t know what it is, or if they're alone!” he panted after him. By the time they made it to where even Stiles could hear the cries for help, a crowd had gathered on the dock, all hurrying towards the sound. Stiles recognized the sound of that voice and he froze. The scene grew hazy for a moment, and then it seemed that everything he saw was in black and white. The edges of his sight darkened and tunnelled in. Spots danced across the planes of his vision.

His chest was being squeezed by an invisible vice, and he found that everything he heard was muffled like he was hearing it through several pairs of earmuffs. He may have even blacked out for a second, because the next thing he noticed was the sensation of being shaken to his senses. He blinked, refocusing his eyes, only to see Derek clutching a broken and bleeding Kaisa in his arms as he rushed for the infirmary.

Scott looked almost as bad. Wounds in various states of healing lay scattered all over his body. Mr. Argent supported Scott on one side, with a hand holding in what Stiles thought might be an organ or two. Satomi, spry and strong for the centenarian she was, held Scott on the other side. She had a towel pressed to his head. 

“Stiles!” More shaking, but he couldn’t seem to be able to catch his breath as the world spun around him. Was his sister even alive? How could- What was he- 

Two strong hands landed on his shoulders, steadying him. Finally, his eyes regained some of their clarity and he saw Jordan staring at him, his mouth moving but words indecipherable to Stiles’ ears. “Stiles, can you walk?”

When Stiles didn’t answer him, Jordan snaked an arm around his waist just to ensure he didn’t hit the snow covered deck and escorted him to the infirmary. Stiles made the foolish choice to spare a glance behind him to see the long trail of bloody snow leading into town. Whatever had attacked his family could surely follow the path and find everyone. It was going to be a bloodbath. He tried to spin out of Jordan’s grasp, but was held tighter for his efforts.

“Could come back- Gotta protect-”

“We have all eyes on alert. Everyone keeping watch is armed. We have it taken care of.” Jordan sat Stiles down on one of the empty beds in the infirmary. Soon, someone draped a blanket around his shoulders. He thought he heard someone telling him he was in shock and should lie down. He almost took their advice until he saw Derek, and the entire front of his light brown coat was saturated in blood...Kaisa’s blood.

He lost his lunch all over the infirmary floor.

Profuse apologies dripped from his lips next as a warm and damp cloth wiped at his face, cleaning his mouth. When next he looked, Derek had shed the coat, washed his hands, and was kneeling in front of him.

“Hey, hey. She’s alive, but it’s bad.”

“I need to see her. Scott-”

“He’s going to be fine.”

Shaking, Stiles dropped his head to Derek’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Derek said nothing, and Stiles knew that it could mean only two things. Either he didn’t know--but then he would have said so--or he knew Stiles would not like the answer he gave.

“What happened?” he repeated with more fervor.

“They smell like Peter. I don’t- I don’t know why he would have done this. He has two children. Why would he attack a child? I don’t-”

Stiles, even in his rattled state, could see Derek was wracked with guilt. “You didn’t do this.  _ He _ did. I want to see my sister. Missä hiiroseni on?” Stiles pushed him aside and clambered towards the commotion. 

If he’d had anything left in his stomach, surely he would have emptied the rest onto the floor when he saw Kaisa. Melissa, Noshiko and Morrell worked frantically to stop the bleeding. Her arm was only held on by a thin strip of muscle. Before anyone had the good sense to tell him to leave, he heard Melissa tell Mrs. Yukimura that they would have to amputate. Ampu-

Everything after that went black.

  
  
  
  
  


Derek scrubbed his hands for what felt like the hundredth time, but still, blood remained under his fingernails. He would never get the sight of that small body, whose very existence was just so bright, covered in blood. Nor would he ever wrap his head around the fact his uncle was capable of such an atrocity. His suspicions had been confirmed when Scott became lucid once more, telling him about a man, a wolf with icy blue eyes, and how he’d come running at them from the woods spouting accusations that they stole a pack member, had brainwashed him into leaving.

Though he was not personally responsible for their injuries, in some ways he felt he was. He’d been the one to leave his pack. Though, he’d left a note on one of the tables in the library, he doubted anyone bothered to read it. And now-

“D’rek,” Stiles croaked from the bed beside him, regaining consciousness. “What-”

“You fainted. Melissa said you’d been hyperventilating and passed out. You hit your elbow on the way down. So you’ll have a-”

“I don’t care about me. Kaisa? Please-”

Derek licked his lips. “Let me get Melissa.” He rose from the chair and sought her out, bringing her over to Stiles’ bedside.

“Stiles,” she said, checking his pulse, “it’s bad. I have done all I can. I just don’t think it’s enough. She lost a lot of blood, and her injuries are extensive.”

Derek watched him cover his face with his hands and break down into great heaving sobs. When he tried to wrap Stiles in his embrace, he was pushed away. “Stiles, I was just trying to-”

Stiles sat up and shoved at his chest. "You! She’s hurt because of you!"

"You can't think I-" Derek’s mouth went dry.

"No, just someone in your pack! What kind of monster feels threatened by a little girl!" 

"Stiles, please.” This time when he tried to hug him, Stiles sank into his chest, fisting his hands in the fabric of the sweater. Derek couldn’t help but take Stiles’ words to heart. Sure Stiles was angry and afraid, but what he’d said had some merit. If Derek hadn’t left his pack, then Kaisa and Scott wouldn’t have been attacked. No matter what he tried, it seemed, he screwed up. 

That’s all he was. A screw up. He’d failed his last pack, and now he’d failed his new one. 

“I can’t do this. I promised my mother I would always protect her,” Stiles sniffled. “It was the last thing I ever said to her. I have to-” Stiles pushed back and sat up, wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his sleeve. The sobbing subsided a bit, and Derek watched, as he went very still.

Stiles stared, with eyes unblinking, at the floor for several moments. When he looked up at him, Derek could see the look of determination on his face. Stiles licked his lips, his eyes blinked once, slowly. “You have to bite her.”

Once Melissa had filled him in, Derek had known that Stiles would ask this of him. “Stiles,” he said, taking Stiles’ hand in his own, “There’s a reason we don’t bite children. I don’t know if it will take. Even if it does, her arm- It’s not growing back.”

“But she’s most likely going to die without it. Even if she doesn’t, she’ll need more care and surgeries than any of us are skilled enough to give. It’s the only- Bite her, and I will ask the spirit world to make sure she survives it. Please.”

Unsure if it would be well received, Derek leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cold and clammy forehead, and to his surprise, Stiles leaned into it. “Okay, but Stiles,” when he looked at Derek with those wide and tearful eyes, Derek hated that he needed to say what was on the tip of his tongue. Yet, it was important that Stiles understood, “if it doesn’t take, it’s going to be painful, and she’ll suffer… a lot. And you might need to make a difficult decision to end that.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears in them from escaping. The thought that his bite, the only time he’d ever given it, could cause such a vibrant child even more suffering, ate at him. He knew, though, that if the bite didn’t take… he’d probably lose Stiles forever. There would be no way Stiles would ever forgive him.

Stiles struggled to stand, and with Derek’s help they walked, somber, over to Kaisa’s bed. Across from her, Scott groaned as his injuries knit themselves back together. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I tried to protect her. I did my best, but he was stronger than me and knew how to fight better. I did every-”

  
  
  
  
  


Stiles patted his arm. “I believe you. Thank you.” He sat down on the edge of her bed, smoothing her hair down. His heart, he could actually feel it breaking in his chest as he looked at her frail form, wan and broken. He looked at what used to be her left arm, bandages wrapped around the stump, blood seeping through the stitched wound. Her little hand was icy in his as he squeezed it to offer comfort even though they had her sedated. 

If he ignored the wounds, pretended they weren’t there, he could imagine she was sleeping not anesthetized. He couldn’t help himself, and began singing in soft tones, a lullaby he’d first learned from his mother and then sang to Kaisa almost nightly as an infant. “ _ Minä laulan lapselleni liekuttelen linnulleni, kieltä pieksän piene- pienell... _ ” He couldn’t even finish, simply curled his hands in the blanket and, burying his head in the mattress, wept.

“Stiles,” Derek said, his words hushed as he shook Stiles’ shoulder, “if you still want me to, it needs to be now to give her the best chance.”

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he looked over to Derek and nodded. “Go ahead.” He couldn’t watch as Derek’s fangs sank into her calf; her torso had been too badly damaged to leave any room to bite. Nor could he look at Derek again until his mate had washed the blood from his mouth. “I’m gonna fix this,” he whispered into Kaisa’s hair, and stalked out, pushing past Derek without a word.

He couldn’t let anyone’s words or opinion stop him now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*******

 

Stiles dashed around the room, rushing to get a fire going in the firebowl on the center table while he gathered his herbs. It was essentially just the bottom of an old Weber Smokey Joe grill. His hands shook as he lit the tinder amongst the chunks of wood. When the flames began wicking up the pine needles, soon growing into a stable enough fire, he dipped into the porcelain jar on a nearby shelf. A clutch of powder in hand, he sprinkled them over the flames. It took several tries to get the bundles of herbs rolled correctly; his trembling fingers couldn’t tie the string tightly enough to secure them. 

“Stop it,” he snapped. “Knock it off.” It was a technique he’d been successful at several times in order to stop the beginning of a panic attack, talking himself out of it. He’d like nothing more than to give into it right now but there was no time. 

The herbs began to smoke, filling his shop with a strange blend of scents. Anise, rosemary, mint, and parsley competed with sage to tickle his nose. He’d grabbed some heated water from the infirmary on the way out, and now his tea was steeping.

Desperately, he tried to clear his mind enough, calm his emotions enough to get in the right headspace. It wasn’t working, and he found he had to keep wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. He couldn’t even think straight enough to remember where he’d last put his drum.

“Need help?”

Stiles’ shoulders sagged in relief when Morrell walked in, and true to her level-headed nature, didn’t even need direction. She simply flitted about the room, gathering the rest of the supplies Stiles would need to enter the spirit world. By the time his tea was ready, she’d already helped him to don his bear cloak and paint his skin.

It wasn’t often he dipped into his small supply of dried and ground bear blood. It was a precious commodity, but Kaisa’s life was far more valuable. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he’d watched Morrell rehydrate it with water and mix with bone ash.

“Pull yourself together Stiles,” she leveled him with a pointed stare just to make sure he understood. Of course he understood. He just couldn’t get his brain to cooperate. 

He nodded instead of telling her any of that and downed his tea, paying no heed to the way it burned his tongue and throat on the way down. When she handed him his lit pipe, carved from a deer antler, he focused, pulling the song of magic from his mind. His voice shook almost as much as his hands as he sang, taking the drags from the pipe when the song called for. While he sang, Morrell drummed. It was not ideal, but it was all he could manage for the time being.

Then, he felt his legs start to grow weak under his weight. She’d mixed the blend strong. Good.

Morrell guided him to the rug in the corner, helped him to lie down where the smoking bundles of herbs cast a hypnotic cloud that danced above his head. Once she’d done her part, she retreated back to her apartment to give him privacy. She lived next door after all, and Stiles was an expert at this by now.

He closed his eyes, and let the sensation of his body dissolving into tiny particles wash over him. When he finally felt himself returning to solid form, he opened his eyes. Everything, like it always was here, was hazy, almost translucent with washed out color. 

And he felt his tie to the realm of the living slip away. 

  
  
  


 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnish used in chapter:  
> Missä hiiroseni on?- Where’s my little mouse?


	9. A Means to An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene 1: “Blackbird”- Chase Holfelder  
> Scene 2: “Out of the Black”- Royal Blood  
> Scene 3: “Silence in the Snow”- Trivium  
> Scene 4 and 5: “Prepare to Die, but Sow the Rye”- Lowercase Noises

As he stood, taking his first steps, Stiles reached out his hand to cut through the thick swirling fog. WIth a deep breath, he let his lungs fill with the familiar taste of the spirit world. As a flavor, it was hard to describe. It tasted to him the way a forest smelled, fallen leaves and soil, the barest hint of pine needle and wild flower. The thing was, it had been so long since he’d actually smelled a forest that wasn’t buried in snow.He’d been so young, merely a toddler, that he couldn’t even be sure if the memory was real.

Perhaps it was real, and that was why the spirit world smelled like this to him, comforting and secure. Maybe the spirits drew from the farthest corners of his mind to create a pleasing image of some place he’d once felt safe.

Washed out colors and ethereal figures were soon all he saw. Once, he’d looked at himself in a still pond down here and saw how he stood out among everything else. Now, the red marks painted on his chest were the most vibrant of all.

A few practiced steps more and the fog would dissipate the way it always did, and he’d be welcomed like every time before.

When the air cleared, he waited with bated breath as his bear came forward to greet him, pushing its snowy face into his outstretched palm. It was now a dear friend, but its size was still great enough to get his heart pounding in his chest every time they met. Then, the interpreter, a man he’d come to know as Deaton, who was coincidentally Morrell's late brother, stepped forward.

“I need your guidance and wisdom; I need your help.”

Deaton nodded, the subtle dip of his head hid his emotions well. Was he pleased to see Stiles? Was he internally sighing in displeasure at seeing his face once more? Stiles would never know. “I thought as much. Your appearance is far more harried than usual.” He stepped aside and let Stiles walk with him and the bear as he led him deeper and deeper into the world.

Beings and visions Stiles had never seen passed by him right and left. The well-worn path became uneven, with stones and tree roots protruding from the soil. Dense, yet ghostly trees, lined both sides of the trail. A massive group of spectres huddled together on his right, all of them clad in pre-Civil War clothing. Lost souls of the Gold Rush, perhaps.

“I know what you’ve come for. What you seek. This is not something we can help wi-”

“You have to! Please! She’s an innocent!”

Deaton spread out his arms wide to either side. “This world is filled with innocents. That alone is not enough.”

“She gives me purpose, and with purpose I can act as a conduit between our two worlds. Please!” The crack in his voice betrayed the conviction he’d tried to put into his words. “There must be someone in here who has the power to help me.”

Deaton rolled his eyes. “As I was trying to say, Stiles, this is not something we can help with easily.”

Stiles felt his legs grow weaker with each step, as though the ground was pulling him in. “Please, I will do anything if you just help her.”

With a smirk, Deaton said, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And then... the ground swallowed him whole.

Darkness flooded his vision as he fell, fingers grasping blindly at his surroundings for purchase. The soil crumbled under his palms, and the air around him grew warmer with each second until it was hot like sitting too close to the fire. It was then that, with a jolt, he stopped falling, hitting the ground in an undignified heap.

Groaning, he stood and dusted himself off, straightened his bear pelt and looked around. He’d landed in a forest; a green forest, with nary a snowbank in sight. The full moon above, filtered in through the leaves, casting a pleasant blue hue over everything it touched. It drew his eye to a soft orange light in the distance.

He’d recognize firelight anywhere, and so, with tentative steps, he went towards it. Almost as though he were drawn to it. The closer he got, the more he could make out what he was looking at.

Five people stood around the fire which was elevated off the ground by...was that a tree stump?

His mother had always called him a curious cat, and before long he was upon them. The fire, levitated in the air above the tree, long since cut down. A thick crack, split the stump, but even with it and the low light, Stiles could see more rings than he could easily count. Surrounding it, the five people, three women and two men, seemed to be in a trance. And why was the night air so sweltering?

It was so humid out, he could hardly breathe, and it wasn’t the fire’s fault. What in the-

“It’s a nemeton.”

The voice startled him, and Stiles spun around to see a woman about Melissa’s age, dressed in robes, holding a metal bowl and a spray of herbs tied with a blue ribbon. He took a moment to calm his jumping heart and caught her scent. Ozone, like magic. “You’re a witch.”

“I prefer the term High Priestess, but yes, I am a witch. We all are magical practitioners.”

He nodded, having gathered that much on sight alone. “What are you- No, better yet, _where_ am I?”

“At a nemeton, but I assume you meant a specific place?”

Stiles fought not to groan in exasperation. “Yes. That is exactly what I meant. Because, _this_ place? Is nowhere I’ve ever seen. Where in the world is there still green?”

“A better question,” she said, tilting her head as though she were considering him, “is _when_ are you? But first, I have a question for you. Why are you here?”

Stiles rubbed his sweating palms dry on the fabric of his pants. “My little sister, well she’s like my daughter, but that’s irrelevant. She was attacked in the woods, and I can’t lose her. Not her too.”

The woman stared at his chest so long it started to unnerve him. “What?” he asked.

“You are mated,” she said, stepping closer to him. Her fingers were febrile when she touched the still healing bite mark on his shoulder. “To an alpha, no less.”

He remained silent as he tried to suss out the intention for her question.

“Am I wrong in guessing you asked your mate to give her the bite to save her life?”

“No.”

She set the items in her arms down onto the nemeton. “And Deaton sent you down here to us. I assume he told you about the trade?”

“What trade?”

She gave a slight nod of amusement. “Clever man. Get them here first instead of giving them a choice. He’s finally wisened up.”

He crossed his arms over his chest; he was in no mood for ambiguity. “What trade?”

“We can help your sister, if you help us.”

“You scratch my back; I scratch yours sort of thing?” He gestured to the tree stump. “So, what are you doing here tonight?”

She lit the herb bundle, then tapped its smoking form on each member of her coven’s shoulders. “Saving the world. Too long have people disregarded nature and destroyed the planet. They will only bring about their own destruction if we don’t help.”

What the hell was she talking about? Stiles rolled his eyes as she continued her story while she used a knife to prick everyone’s fingers, letting drops of blood fall into the metal bowl. “The polar ice is all but melted. Record floods have ravaged low-lying countries. Thousands have died and millions more will die unless we stop this warming world.”

 _Just get on with it, lady._ He was on far too tight a schedule for this nonsense.

“This is a ritual to reverse that.”

He saw red. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he snapped. “Are you telling me that all of us, all over the world are in this mess because of _you_?”

“Just a simple ritual to cool the world a few degrees. Nothing more. Just enough to stop the rest of the ice from melting.”

His blood boiled in his veins, and his heart pounded in his chest. “A few degrees? How can you say a world covered in snow is only a few degrees?”

Her brows furrowed.”I don’t...we-”

Oh. Stiles had a hunch about it. “Your little ritual? It killed you all didn’t it? That’s why you’re here.”

“Yes. The ritual... it worked too well. It was unbalanced. We were not strong enough, not enough in number to hold it together. We did not have the necessary elemental magic to stop it.”

Stiles licked his lips, considering her words as she mixed the blood with some herbs, painting symbols on the nemeton. For future reference, he committed the symbols to memory. “What do you want from me?”

“Do this spell,” she handed him a bit of leather, on which, the words of an incantation had been written, “and do it with the right people, and you will see.”

He read down the requirements for the spell. They didn’t have the herbs, but he suspected she was willing to part with the right ones if he agreed to help.

_Bring forth beings of animal, man, Earth, sky, life and death and mix seven drops of blood from each into a copper bowl filled with soil, ash and herbs of a cooling sachet._

“Almost two decades have given me time to consider why the spell went wrong and killed us. We needed a seventh member, one in tune with the beyond to tie us together.”

Beyond. That’s why Deaton didn’t say a word. “You needed a shaman.”

She sat down on the nemeton and gestured for him to sit beside her. “Precisely.”

He went through the requirements, and he knew how to fulfill every one of them but the being of life. “I can’t do this spell. I don’t know anyone for-”

“There is a young man, we see him down here periodically. He comes for a minute or two before disappearing. Always shows up burned and covered in soot. Leaves, remade as pristine as the day he was born with no memory of this place or how he came to be here.”

“You’re talking about a phoenix. I hate to break it to you, but I don’t know a phoenix.”

She patted his knee. “Oh but you do. That young man that showed up in town, I think you call him Jordan-”

He was taken aback. “Jordan’s a phoenix? How would he not know that?” Dawn began to break on the horizon.

She reached into her robe and handed him a pouch. “These are the herbs you’ll need. I adjusted them for the spell reversal. If you will help us, we will help your sister.”

“Okay,” he said without even a moment’s thought.

“Stiles, I should warn you, the ritual might kill you, may kill all who participate.”

“But it would save the world?”

“Yes.”

“Easy choice. Thank you.”

“And you as well... Good luck.”

Once more, the ground swallowed him, but instead of darkness, his field of vision went white as the air cleared and swirled around him. He wasn’t moving this time,  but everything else was. With a roar, the wind suddenly stopped and he found himself face to face with a man whose appearance he vaguely remembered. Next to him, stood a girl a little older than Kaisa, her long dark hair matched that of the man beside her. His child?

He regarded the man’s face for quite sometime, finding an odd sensation in seeing his features. He felt almost like family. What? The more time he spent looking at him, looking at them both, the more confused he became.

“Thank you,” the man said.

“For what?”

“For being what my son needed. For loving him.”

Then, it clicked. “Derek? You’re-”

“Tell him, I don’t blame him. He was a kid who was taken advantage of. Tell him, that despite her grief, his mother still loves him, even if she has an odd way of showing it. Tell him thank you, for trying to save Cora,” he pointed to the girl next to him.

Stiles couldn’t breathe. He interacted with spirits in this world all the time, but never like this. All he could do was nod.

“Kaisa is strong. She’ll be fine. You’ll see. And,” he patted his shoulder, and Stiles felt a thrum of electricity move through his veins, “use the power surge wisely.”

“What? I don’t-”

“Those who purposely hurt children, are the lowest and deserve whatever happens to them.”

Everything went black as he fell back to the mortal world.

  


*******

 

Derek’s heart stopped in his chest when Stiles’ eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, snapping out of his trance. He reached out and put a comforting hand on his mate’s chest in an attempt to guide him back to the ground. “Shh, shh. You need your rest.”

Panting, Stiles pushed his hand out of the way. “Kaisa, how-”

The corners of Derek’s mouth curled upward slightly. “The bite, it took.” He watched Stiles relax in front of him, the tension in his shoulders bleeding out of him almost instantly.

When Stiles tried to stand, his wobbly legs almost gave out with his first step. Derek caught him, but only just. Once more Stiles tried to push his hands away. “I need to, I need-” Eyes slipping closed, he stopped and took a cleansing breath. “So when I got there, Deaton was all cryptic as fuck, but what else is new? Right? You knew him, Morrell. Remember what your brother was like? Anyway, he was all ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you, Stiles. You overestimate my powers, Stiles. I don’t think I can do that, Stiles. Blah, blah, and blah. So yeah, he sent me down this hole, and I came to this place in the woods where there was this big-ass, giant tree stump and a bunch of witches who were like in a trance, and the priestess said it was their fault but I need Earth and sky, animal and man, life and death, and the beyond to fix it. Then I was leaving and your dad came up to me, but it was funny because he was the first person to greet me when I went to the spirit world the first time, but I didn’t recognize him. Obviously because we hadn’t met, you and I, but there he was telling me that he didn’t blame you; it wasn’t your fault. He’sproudofyouandthenIguesshekindasortofimpliedIhadanewpower.”

At the end of that rambling mess of words, the last sentence had blended together, but Derek heard enough. “You saw my dad?” He hated the way his voice broke as he asked.

Stiles licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“And...he’s proud of me?”

“Yeah.

Derek dashed away the few tears in his eyes. “Now, what was that about witches?”

Morrell stepped forward and pressed a cup into Stiles’ palm. Derek had almost forgotten she was there. She was quiet like he was, but always looked like she knew more about any given situation than she let on; it unnerved him. “Drink this. It will calm you down.”

“What is it?” Stiles narrowed his eyes and leaned away from her a tad..

Derek sniffed the air. “It’s chamomile.”

“Now relax and sit.”

He hummed, nodding a little, before gulping down a large drink. “This is all the fault of witches.”

“Kaisa’s attack?” Improbable yes, Derek had to admit that, but Stiles clearly knew more than he did about the subject.

“No,” he said spreading his arms out wide, “this- all of this. The freeze, the snow, the deaths of millions, hundreds of millions...”

Derek watched his nostrils flare, his lips curling back as he took deep yet noisy breaths.

“They were trying to stop a heat wave or something, but-” he stopped abruptly to stare down at his tightly curled fists. Then, with a shaky breath, he laughed. “I know how to fix it. Now, take me to see Kaisa.”

  
  
  
  


Though the color had begin to return to her tiny form, Kaisa remained still on the bed. He could see that she was no longer bleeding as the wounds started to heal, but a heavy sheen of sweat covered every bit of her skin that he could see. He understood werewolves. So, he knew this was normal. Even still, Stiles felt himself barely holding on. She would be okay, but less than whole. Derek had been correct; her arm would not grow back, and yeah, maybe Danny could fashion her some kind of prosthesis, but that was not the point.

Someone with a grudge and no conscious thought that attacking a little girl and leaving her for dead was the perfect message to send to Derek. A bark of laughter burst through his tightly clenched lips. Why the hell should any of them even care? The way Derek described it made it seem like the whole of the pack more or less ignored him for a decade. Or was it more that he had given himself to someone else and he was no longer theirs?

The longer he stared at his sister, the worse it got. With a full body shiver, he fidgeted in his seat. An itch had begun to buzz in his veins, and he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Spots danced across his vision. He could focus on nothing other than the fact he wanted blood- to make Peter hurt like Kaisa was hurting. More than though. There was a subtle shifting beneath his skin, one he might not have noticed if he wasn’t already keyed up and in tune with himself.

“Stiles? What’s wrong,” he heard the quake in Derek’s voice and supposed he probably looked a little frenzied at the moment, “and what do you mean you can fix it?”

Stiles screwed shut his eyes, his jaw tightening, as a pull from deep in his gut overtook him. The pull morphed into a white hot rage, blanketing all sense or reason, and he just let go. The tingle that vibrated beneath the surface intensified, and he felt himself growing larger than his body followed by an intense need to get outside.

So he ran, and no sooner than his feet hit snow, everything changed.

His bear pelt seemed to adhere to his skin and spread over his body. Teeth elongated in his mouth. His feet and hands were no longer what he recognized as his own, and as bones and muscles rearranged themselves inside him, he dropped down onto all fours. Stiles took off for the woods, barrelling through the snow faster than he had ever run before.

There was a score to settle and a debt to be paid.

 

*******

 

Derek could hardly keep up with Stiles as he ran, which was saying something, because everything he’d read told him wolves were faster than bears. Yet, he lagged behind him several body lengths. There was something to be said about the power of adrenaline. He managed to get close enough to nip at one of his back legs, but that was all. Stiles had turned his head, still running, and roared at him.

He knew where Stiles was going, and it made him sick to his stomach. Though they never understood him, he didn’t want any harm to come to his family, didn’t want harm to come to Stiles. He wanted to see Peter punished, sure, but not like this. Not ripped limb from limb as Stiles was sure to do. He’d never seen his mate so enraged, not even on that night they met, when Stiles’ angry and entranced form pinned him to the ground. This type of furor would not end well.

Once they crossed the river, all bets were off, and there was little he’d be able to do when the pack descended. And descend they would.

Sure enough, as he closed upon the school, they found themselves surrounded by two fully shifted wolves and nine in their beta shifts. Shit. He watched as Stiles, all nine hundred pounds of fully shifted polar bear, honed in on the scent of the guilty party. Derek watched his uncle’s eyes widen in fear, but the man was skilled in hand to hand combat and stood, claws out and ready. Clearly, Peter was expecting a collision first not a swipe of a massive clawed paw across his chest.

Blood sprayed onto the snow, and Derek froze for just a moment. He didn’t quite know why he did. Perhaps it was the memory of his father’s blood upon the snow ten years before. But a moment was all it took for his mother to smash into him, getting her muzzle around his front leg and clamping down hard. A high-pitched whine broke free from his throat, and that seemed to be enough to momentarily snap Stiles from his rage.

Stiles’ furry, white head turned towards him, and they locked eyes. Something in Derek’s must have told him not to worry about him, because Stiles’ attention was back on Peter almost instantly.

The world turned end over end on him as Derek and his mother tumbled before he sank into the snow and his side hit the frozen ground hard, bones crunching as she pinned him. He knew how his mother fought, knew what was coming next, and rather than let her go for his throat, he did the only thing he could and snapped at her to cause her to jump back. It gave him enough time to roll onto his back and bare his neck. Though he’d been amongst the townspeople and Stiles--whose scent was surely covering him like a blanket--he hoped that in her focus to protect her pack, she’d be able to find his smell underneath all the new ones.

She had been mid-lunge at that point and landed on top of him. His leg, caught under her body, snapped like a twig, but luckily the bone didn’t break the skin. The whimper the pain drew out of him must have sounded familiar enough to her for her to recognize him, and she moved her snout to his neck to smell him.

A hot tongue laved at the wound on his face, and there was a time when he would have relished in this attention, but all he could think of was Stiles, especially when he heard his uncle scream in pain followed by several wolves snarling.

He managed to turn his head enough to see them all ganging up on Stiles. His mate was going to die if he didn’t do something. So he howled, putting all his alpha strength, despite his injuries, into it. Slowly, the ivory fur receded, replaced by the porcelain of Stiles’ skin, marred in a few places by cuts that would no doubt scar.

Stiles stood, chest and shoulders heaving from the toll of the battle. His arms hung at his sides, a trickle of blood running down the left, leaving little droplets on the snow. Cheeks flushed red, there were tears in his eyes. Derek could see the slight tremble in his lip.

He also saw Boyd’s clawed hand around his throat.

“Stop,” Derek croaked once his shift had finished, and he was, once more, in his human skin. He rolled onto his side, managing to push himself to stand with only one arm. As he hobbled over to him, he met Stiles’ gaze, and saw the shame and resignation in his eyes. He’d failed. “Please, don’t hurt him,” his voice was broken and thick with unshed tears.

From somewhere behind him, he heard Peter’s sneer as he spat at them, “You abandoned your pack for _him_? He, who’d trespass onto our lands and attack us like they did? Look at him,” he laughed in derision, “he’s not even healing. You broke ties with your family for a human!”

The venom and disgust in his uncle’s voice made his stomach churn, but he would not be deterred and continued shuffling towards Stiles. “You hypocrite!”

“Derek,” his mother’s voice commanded his attention. “Come home.”

“No.”

Peter rolled his eyes and turned to his alpha. “See, Talia. I told you. How many times have I told you he ran away? Even after I showed you the proof, you still wouldn’t believe me.” He walked forward and jabbed Stiles in the sternum with a clawed finger. A low growl rumbled in Derek’s throat, but Stiles even without being fully shifted, was far from helpless. He reached out and grabbed Peter’s arm.

Derek heard the snapping of bones. Good.

Wincing, Peter held his arm as it healed. “And now, this pathetic human attacked us without provocation!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Derek wanted his glare to burn holes in his uncle’s skull. “You struck first!”

His mother walked over to them and nodded to Boyd, who removed his hand from Stiles’ throat. It gave Derek the opportunity he needed to put himself between his mother and his mate, not that he was any kind of formidable opponent in his current condition. “Is this true?”

Peter held up his hands. “I have no idea what he’s talking about. The boy lies.”

“Bullshit!” Stiles snapped. “What kind of monster attacks a nine year old girl? What kind of threat could she possibly been to you?”

“Before this intruder and this traitor try to sway your opinion with what is certainly a well-crafted story, I have to say, that they, too, were tres-”

Reaching over his shoulder, Stiles lunged at him, but Derek held him back. “Like hell they were! You came onto neutral ground and left her for dead!”

His mother eyed Peter for a long time. Before she spoke, Peter continued to mount both a case for his defence and against Stiles. “What a tangled web you weave. I scratched her. Minor injuries. She’ll be fine in the morning.”

It took every ounce of Derek’s strength and all his weight to hold Stiles back at that moment. He felt minor wounds that had started the slow process of healing rip open again. “Minor? You ripped her fucking arm off! You’re dead! I’ll fucking kill you!”

This time, Derek wasn’t strong enough to stop him, and Stiles pushed past him, and, hands shifted into paws, went for Peter again, getting in a good, deep, swipe across Peter’s midsection. Slow to get up off the ground, Derek’s heart leapt into his throat when Boyd, Erica and Laura all grabbed Stiles, pushing him towards his mother.

He crawled in front of him, blocking their progress.

"Step aside Derek. Justified or not, he trespassed onto our lands."

No, no. This was not happening. He could hardly breathe in that moment, and used his remaining strength to pull himself up, using Stiles’ leg for support, and he must really have been losing a lot of blood, because he was freezing- more than he should have been despite his nakedness. "No, I won't let you kill him."

"Haven't we been hurt enough by your little crushes? Have you forgotten Kate?"

Fucking Peter. “He's not Kate!" he screamed at him. There was a sluggishness to his heartbeat, and dizzy, he leaned back into Stiles for support.

"Move aside."

He was an immovable force, staring into his mother’s face. "If you want to kill him, you will have to go through me. Tell me, is that what you really want, Mom? To leave a newly bitten nine year old werewolf without an alpha?"

Something changed in his mother’s face. What that was, he couldn’t be sure, but it was definitely an expression he’d never seen before. "You'd give your life for someone you hardly know?"

Despite the aching in his ribs, he straightened his posture, held his chin high. "Hardly? I’ve been with him for six months, and I couldn’t say a damn thing because of your rules. By now, I know more about him and his people, than I know about some of you.”

She reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. “But he’s human. How can you trust him after what they did our family?”

“He’s not them.”

Stiles voice startled him. “My people didn’t hurt your family! We manage just fine in our town, and yet in the past year not only has your pack attacked us, but wolves in the territory next to you saw fit to try and kill us as well! And you speak of us like _we_ are the problem! And stop talking about me like I’m scum. I came barrelling into your territory as a fully shifted polar bear. My mother was something like a werewolf! I am no mere human!”

This was going to unravel quickly, grow worse, and get them both killed. So he changed tactics. "You always said all your rules were for the good of the pack. You pride yourself on fairness." He straightened his posture as best he could and looked her in the eyes. “How fair is it that you are more upset with me falling in love with a ‘human’ than the fact Peter, one of your betas, tried to kill a little girl, a child? Doesn’t that make you human, too?” He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but sometime between Stiles irrationally putting the blame of Kaisa’s attack on him and this moment, he’d grown a spine. He’d found the strength to stand on his own, to no longer be his family’s metaphorical punching bag. “I love him, Mom, and if you love _me_ , you won’t kill him.” Without even thinking about it, he reached up to rub at the brand on his chest, which was precisely the wrong thing to do in that moment. He followed his mother’s gaze from his chest to the bite mark on Stiles’ neck. He could actually feel the moment she severed his bond with the pack, disowning him.

"If you leave with him, don’t bother coming back."

  
  
  


*******

 

Talia walked up to Peter and grabbed him by the throat. “How dare you attack a child! I don't care if you thought it was for the good of the pack, I would have dealt with Derek myself, but you took matters into your own hands, because of that, you forced mine!  If you were unmated without children, I'd sever your ties to this pack in an instant, but I won't put you through the pain of being away from your children. Shame you didn’t extend the same courtesy to me.” Peter tried to protest, but she squeezed his neck tighter. “Your reckless behavior cost me my son! Get out of my sight!” She shoved him away from her and strode past what remained of her pack, head held high, as though she believed in her conviction. She continued walking until she pushed open the doors to what used to be the Principal’s Office and locked the door behind her. She sometimes came here when she needed a moment alone. It was at the far end of the school, too far from any of the other rooms for anyone to hear her, and she’d done her best over the years to insulate it from the cold. By the time she sat down in the green chair in the corner--holes in the leather patched with whatever scraps she could find, buttons missing, and all wheels removed-- tears streamed down her face.

She’d spent the last week fearing her son was dead, stolen in the night by hunters who’d returned to finish them off one-by-one, the way they’d tried to ten years ago. When her brother showed up late the day before with the scrap of a love letter in his fist, she willfully ignored the smell of blood on his skin. Even with him spouting words like ‘selfish’, ‘reckless’, and ‘bent on ruin,’ she’d taken them with a grain of salt.

Until, that is, she read the words on the paper, paper that smelled so strongly of her son, it brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t see the same things in the words Peter had. Instead, she saw all the ways she’d failed to notice her son had grown into himself over the years. Without her noticing, he’d become a man, gone off on his own and found himself a mate. Maybe she had noticed, just didn’t know or care how to handle it.

Derek, ever since that night, had been a hard person to love. Always in his room behind locked doors, he became reticent to a fault and emotionally closed off. She had never bothered to adapt her parenting style to fit the way his grief had changed him. She’d kept hoping for him to fall into the mold in which the rest of the pack fit so easily. Tactile and garrulous, coming to her with their problems, seeking comfort in each other.

Her son never had.

She knew now that he thought he didn’t deserve it, had wanted anyone to reach out _to_ him, and they’d all pretended he was fine. The wandering, the curiosity, hadn’t been a desire to rebel, but a means to satisfy the needs his pack had ignored.

She scrubbed both hands down her face to dash away the silent tears. Over the years, she’d become a master of silent crying. An alpha must be strong and show no weakness in front of betas. A pack looks to its leaders for strength. Even now, when all she’d wanted to do was reach out and pull her son into a hug, tell him she was sorry and that of course his mate would be recognized, she’d done what _needed_ to be done. That didn’t mean her heart wasn’t crumbling because of it.

She’d stood there in front of her son ready to kill his mate to maintain order and the sense of security within the pack.

Talia took a deep and shuddering breath, feeling her body tremble all the way to her toes with the intake of air. As if she didn’t personally know the pain of losing a mate and the way it warped you. He’d stood there and begged her not to do it. If Derek hadn’t put himself between them she would have, and that’s what scared her more.

With a sigh, she realized she could pinpoint the exact moment Derek’s heart broke within his chest, the moment when he felt the pack bonds snap. There was a little spark that left his eyes in that moment, one she knew she’d never see again no matter how much she apologized.

Silent and locked away, left to the darkness of his guilt, her boy had grown up and made a pack of his own. By necessity and her brother’s rash behavior, Derek had made a beta. He’d found a mate, and-

She whimpered as she realized she hadn’t even learned his name, nor had she learned anything about the little girl Derek now had under his wing. What was her name? Where were her parents? A large part of her suspected she was the child of Derek’s mate. That somehow made it worse, as though she’d lost a relationship with a girl who was now, more or less, her grandchild before she ever had one.

She’d fix this, do whatever it took.

  


*******

 

Stiles reached out and caught him. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“Wounds inflicted by an alpha take longer to heal. I’ll be fine. Just...give it time.”

Stiles cupped his cheek as he kissed his forehead. “You were ready to die for me?”

Derek nodded, nuzzling into the touch of Stiles’ frigid fingers on his cheek. “If they’d killed you, I’d have begged for death after it anyway. I don’t want to end up like my mother, bitter and cold since losing her mate. I can’t, not after knowing the way you make me feel,” he closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “I can’t.” Suddenly, Stiles’ hand fell away, and he shivered at the loss of contact, opening his eyes to see the polar bear in front of him. He hadn’t been able to appreciate the sight of Stiles like this before. He ran a hand through the fur atop his head and pressed their foreheads together. “It took me years to master full shift, and you have it in a day. It’s not fair,” he chuckled against the fur.

Stiles backed up, and lay down on the snow. It took Derek a minute to figure out why, misinterpreting it at first, petting him. Stiles chuffed in annoyance at him, and oh- “You’re gonna carry me?” Stiles nodded at him, and Derek hefted himself onto his back, hand cleaving tightly to the coarse white fur. “Go slowly for a while, okay? I don’t know how well I can hold on with one hand.”

He pitched forward so that he almost lay atop him, and as Stiles made the unhurried trek back home, the movement of his body beneath him lulled Derek to sleep.

Sometime later, an astringent sting brought him out of a nightmare. Well, brought him out of _the_ nightmare. It was always the same one. He watched his father’s lifeless body fall to the snow, saw Cora bleeding to death next to a mangled corpse of a feral alpha who was dead by his hand

Derek licked his lips as soft lights came into focus and soon found himself staring up at Stiles’ worried face. In his mate’s hand, a warm rag smelled pungently of balsam or pine. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped to wince when Stiles pressed the cloth to his face.

“Shh, shh. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Derek tried to move, but found his arm and leg heavy. He glanced down to see them bound and splinted.

“Melissa helped me splint them. The best I could do for pain was peppermint oil.” He continued dabbing at Derek’s face.

“It’s okay. I’m used to pain.”

He watched Stiles’ face twist in concern. “Just because you’re used to it, doesn’t mean I want to see you in pain, Derek. Come on, let’s sit you up.” He reached under Derek’s arms and helped him to a seated position, then placed a cup to his lips. “It’s not the best taste, but it will help with aches as your bones heal.”

Stiles was right. The concoction tasted terrible. “Thank you. Are you okay?” The nod he received in response was more than enough to relax all the tension and worry in his body. “Then the pain is worth it.”

He pressed a warm compress, this one smelling of lavender, to Derek’s forehead. “There’s someone who wants to see you. Be right back.” Stiles disappeared out the infirmary door.

Derek stared up at the ceiling, quietly mourning the loss of his family. Never had he planned to stay away forever. Give them time to adjust to his absence, and then return to introduce them to Stiles. That had been his plan. In hindsight, he knew he did everything wrong...again. Ultimately, Kaisa had been hurt because he couldn’t stand up to his mother. One of these days, he was gonna get something right. No one could be that monumental of a failure for their whole life. A harsh burn that started in his heart spread throughout his chest. It was probably the feeling of eleven pack bonds slowly dissolving, and he wanted to cry.

So he did.

“Derek!” Kaisa’s overjoyed squeal brought him back into the moment. She looked well, all things considered. Moving with grace and a strength she hadn’t had before. Good, he thought. Good that he’d given her the bite, but too bad it came with the loss of her arm, the stub of which served as a constant remind of the ways Derek had fucked up. Only a small portion of her upper arm remained, but at least the wound had healed.

“You’re awake. Do you feel better?” He smiled, even though it pained him to do so.

Before she could answer his question, Stiles spoke up. “Stop,” he said, his voice soft and thick with tears. Derek looked over at him to see a smile that lit up his face, genuine and reaching his eyes. “Quit blaming yourself for any of this. Leaving your pack did not give Peter the right to do what he did. This is on him, not you. If it weren’t for you, she’d be dead.”

Derek groaned as Kaisa climbed onto the bed to give him a crushing hug. He tried not to let it show how badly the embrace hurt his healing ribs. She lay her head against his chest. “If it weren’t for me, Peter wouldn’t have even dared to come close to town. You were right. This is my fault.”

“Stop. I don’t blame you. You brought her back to me, and I will never be able to thank you enough.”

Kaisa sat up and stared at him, her large, brown eyes quietly assessing him. Her brows had drawn together in confusion. “Who’s Peter? What’s your fault?”

And there it was, the look of fear he hoped he’d never see on her face after their first meeting. “He’s my uncle. He was mad I ran away, and...he took it out on you and Scott.”

“He did this to my arm?” she asked pointing to the stump of her left arm, and Derek could only nod. “Derek, but you didn’t do it, because you wouldn’t hurt me. He’s a bad guy, and you saved me. That means you’re a hero. Okay?”

She kissed his cheek, and he leaned into the contact. “Okay,” he said with another lick to his lips.

“Is it true what, Stiles said? Did you really lose your family because of what happened to me?”

“No, not because of you.”

She hugged him again. “But you’re one of us now.”

His heart stuttered over the words she hadn’t said, but the meaning was loud and clear: _We’re your family now. We love you._

Stiles kissed his forehead as though he could tell Derek was feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I’m gonna go get her in bed.”

Melissa appeared from out of nowhere. Really, he hadn’t even noticed her heartbeat in the room. He must have been totally out of it then. “I’ll take her. It’s okay.”

“Öitä, Hiironen,” Stiles said as he hugged her tightly. “If you need me, just come on over here.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a powerful werewolf now! I can fight my monsters all by myself.”

Derek couldn’t help but fall a little more in love with him as he watched the way Stiles encouraged her.

“Oh yeah? All by yourself?”

“Yep, even with one arm tied behind my back.”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” she said, her voice filling the room with a brightness Derek didn’t even know he needed until that moment. “Even with no arms. Just you watch!” She kissed Stiles’ cheek first then his, once more.

When she left with Melissa, Derek couldn’t help but stare at the way her life had been irreparably changed, ruined, because of him. Before he could lose himself in the familiar feeling of overwhelming guilt, Stiles nudged at his side, pushing him over on the bed. Curled around him, he burrowed under the blanket, his hand tracing the paw shaped brand on Derek’s chest.

“You say things like ‘If it weren’t for me, she’d be fine,’ and it guts me, Derek,” he said, voice low and gentle as he pressed a kiss to Derek’s shoulder. “Because if I hadn’t met you, my heart would never feel this full. I’d never feel this grounded. Life deals you its cards, and some of them are shitty, so unbelievably unfair, but you play them, because you have to, because every once in awhile, you get one that is the most beautiful card you could imagine. So don’t- don’t get lost in what ifs. You’ve felt alone for too long, and I won’t let you feel like that again. You’re here, because you belong here, and we will deal with every card that comes our way.”

When he reached down and intertwined their fingers, squeezing his hand, Derek squeezed back. “I know.”

  


 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnish used in chapter:
> 
> Öitä, hiironen- Good night, little mouse


	10. The Long Way Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> Scene 1: “Come What May”- The Last Bison  
> Scene 2: “Death in a Garden”- Lowercase Noises  
> Scene 3: “Let It All Go”- Birdy with RHODES  
> Scene 4: “Goldrush”- Paper Aeroplanes

“So, that’s the plan. I’d like to hear what you all think about it,” Stiles said as he addressed the bulk of the townspeople who’d gathered in the town hall located in a four container block in Aisle D. “Questions? Comments?” He rubbed his eyes, still exhausted from his travel to the spirit world. He’d need at least two days straight of rest before undertaking and participating in such a complex ritual. He looked out at a lot of quiet faces. “Look, our little town here works because we’re all more than a little involved in running it. The ritual I’ve just explained could be dangerous. The witches were not sure exactly _how_ dangerous it could be if done with the right number of people, but there is a risk in it nonetheless. It would be foolish for us to embark on it without hearing from the rest of the town.”

Ed Mahealani raised his hand.

“Go ahead, you have the floor, Ed.”

“And you’re certain this would end the long winter?”

“Sure? No, not a hundred percent sure, but the Priestess said it was a reversal of the spell they’d screwed up in the first place. I know we have a decent life here. For all our lack of creature comforts, we get by and live in relative safety. But how long until a major storm damages our greenhouse and with it our food supply? You saw what happened with Heather,” his voice cracked at the mention of her name and took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “There are many of us, just about anyone my age and younger, who were undervaccinated or not at all because of the freeze. Pathogens are resilient. All it would take is for one of us to get really sick and then we have a major problem here. One flu outbreak could wipe out half the town.”

Mrs. Bhardwaj stood up. “Eventually, we will run out of space for people in our town. Since we seldom turn people away, we would need to house more people in each home. Now, I grew up in Mumbai, and I have seen what overcrowding can do for hygiene and illness. If you have an opportunity to change the world and make it better, than you have a responsibility to do it.”

Stiles nodded. “With great power comes great responsibility. Uncle Ben was onto something.” He turned to see Derek chuckle. He’d been the one to give Stiles that comic book from the library in the first place. Stiles stepped back and sat down on his chair while Noshiko fielded more questions. His head throbbed, and he found he tuned them out for a while.

“Then it is settled,” Melissa said. “We will do the ritual.”

“How do we find the tree?”

 _Who asked that?_ Stiles stood up and tried to locate the source of the question, but he’d only been half paying attention in the first place. “Jordan.”

“Me?” he asked, a look of shock and confusion painted on his face.

“You said you were drawn here. I actually think, you were drawn to the nemeton, but stopped when you found our town, thinking it had to be what you were looking for.”

Stiles could tell by the look on Jordan’s face, that he did not believe him. “You apparently have quite the experience in the spirit world. It’s true. You _are_ something,” he said, walking forward to clap him on the shoulder. “You’re a phoenix.” Then, he turned to the rest of the town. “So, as I explained, I need mostly supernaturally inclined members of town to help. Some of you are the only option for your role, myself included. That means Morrell, Jordan, Lydia, and Kira...we don’t really have a choice.” The four of them nodded in understanding. “Were your mother a thunder kitsune, she could volunteer in your stead, but... well you know. So, I need two volunteers more. One who is human fully and a werewolf.”

Scott raised his hand.

“Sorry buddy, no. Remember when I said this could be dangerous. We’re already using Kira. Something goes wrong...Kenji’s gonna need you.” He took a deep breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. “That also means, Derek- I know you’ll want to volunteer, but Kaisa knows you, loves and trusts you. You’re her alpha.”

“I will do it,” the sage and experienced voice of Satomi cut him off. “I may be practically ancient, but I’m still spry,” she said as she lay a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “And that means I’ve had a long life. Far longer than any other wolf in town. It _should_ be me who participates.”

“As am I.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Mrs. Bhardwaj joined the rest of the volunteers. “Thanks, Mrs. B.”

Stiles thanked the town for coming, stood quietly as Derek and Jordan volunteered to find the nemeton, and waited for the hall to empty before kneeling to speak to his sister. “You’re awfully quiet.”

She lunged forward and clung to him tightly. “You can’t do this. Everyone leaves. You said you’d never leave,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

All he could do to offer comfort was rub her back in small, circles. “I know what I said, hiiroseni. I have to do this. I am doing this _for_ you. You deserve a better and easier life than this one.” His words didn’t seem to help the way he’d intended them to. So, he took her face in his hands, turned it to face him and said,

“Tulen takaisin; lupaan.”

Even as he said them, the words felt like a lie. He hoped his feeling was wrong.

  


*******

 

Late two nights ago, Derek had come in, chilled to the bone, and curled into bed with him--well him and Kaisa, who couldn’t sleep because of the cold--and told Stiles they’d found the nemeton. That was precisely why everyone involved and a significant number of townspeople were currently trudging through several inches of freshly fallen powder.

He’d said it was not as far into the woods as they’d thought it might be, but farther North than a day’s travel would take them. They’d made camp in an abandoned subdivision and begun walking early that morning. Now, as the sun inched closer to kissing the Western horizon, everyone, weary from travel, hoped that they’d find it soon.

And just like that, like the beacon it apparently was, the familiar tree stump came into view. The clearing surrounding it looked much the same as it had in _henkimaailma_ , and he felt his throat close up in apprehension. He instructed those who were not participating to stand back, both for safety and to give them space to work. Trying to hide his trembling hands, his nerves rattled and anxiety running high, he maneuvered Mrs. Bhardwaj, Morrell, Satomi, Jordan, Kira, and Lydia into position around the stump.

He emptied the contents of his pockets. Upon the stump, he laid his bear bone knife, the scrap of leather for reference, and the pouch of powdered herbs he and Morrell had prepared the day before. Melissa had been entrusted with the job of carrying the thermos of herbal drink and metal bowl; she handed him the items and took her place with the rest of the town. The old wood was far warmer than he’d expected it to be when he placed his palm upon it.

He swore he could hear the nemeton sing songs of the dead.

Before he started the ritual, he walked over to his family- all of them. Melissa got a hug first, then Scott. He did not need to tell them anything; they were fully informed, knew the ways in which everything could fall apart. They knew what they stood to lose. It was better they did not bother themselves with good-byes. As Scott would say, it was too much of a jinx.

He hefted Kaisa into his arms, and once more she clung to him as though she was afraid if she let go, he’d disappear. It was funny. She wasn’t even old enough to remember their mother, but she often asked about her, and Stiles did his best to preserve her memory. He’d done the same with their dad, making sure she understood that it wasn’t that the man hadn’t loved her, but that when his wife died, a large part of him died too and he just couldn’t...function the way he once had. He made sure she knew it was not her fault. Nothing about the way he couldn’t cope was. Stiles knew though, should he fail, the loss would break her.

He prayed he succeeded.

“Muistatko mitä mä sanoin?” She nodded against his neck. “Sano se.”

“Sä tuut olemaan okei; sä lupasit.”

“Niin; mä tein.” He smoothed down her hair as best he could, trying to remember if he’d taught Derek how to braid it the way she liked. If he’d told Derek all her favorite stories...just in case. He kissed her forehead and mumbled against the skin, “Lupaan.”

Sniffling, she rushed into Melissa’s open arms as he stood. Derek wrapped him into a hug, and as Stiles was about to speak, he pressed a finger to his lips.

“Stop. Whatever you were going to say...don’t. Just come back. That’s all that needs to be said,” he whispered, placing his hand over where the mating mark on Stiles’s neck lay underneath his clothes. With his other hand, he tenderly took Stiles’ hand and placed it over the mark on his chest. “Come back.”

Stiles licked his lips and nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth, words would begin to pour from his lips and they might not stop. Instead, he brought Derek’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. Then, he removed the layers of clothing covering his torso until he stood bare chested, before pulling the bear pelt back over his shoulders. It draped down his back; he took comfort in the way the bottom of it hit his heels as he walked.

While he’d been conversing with his family, Morrell had built a fire and mixed the paste for his markings. When he returned to the nemeton, she painted the runes and intricate symbols onto his skin with a practiced hand. Once finished, he passed the mug around the participants, reciting the incantation while the group drank.

They had to repeat the circle, each drinking from cup, as it were, seven times, reversing direction with every rotation. By the time they had completed the first step, Stiles could feel the magic beginning to flow from each of them. He took the pot of herbal paste in hand, and started with Satomi. He decorated her cheeks and tops of her hands with the runes to spell out animal and the symbol of the wolf. Next, came Mrs. Bhardwaj, her signage for man. Then Morrell’s Earth, Kira’s sky, Lydia’s death, and Jordan’s life. Stiles, of course, had already been marked as the connector to the ancestors and spirits.

With great care and gentle hands, he took the knife and pricked each of their right index fingers, squeezing drops of blood into the copper bowl. He added his last as the spell required the most from him. With a hiss, he drew the blade across the top of his forearm where the blood flowed a bit freer, and after he’d given enough, covered the wound tightly with a length of boiled bandage. The blood swirled around in the bowl as he mixed it and then painted the wood in accordance to the requirements.

“Join hands,” he said, his words only loud enough for the circle to hear, though he imagined that Derek, Kaisa and Scott probably heard him with their enhanced hearing, “and recite with me.”

 

_These words we speak, as one tonight_

_For grievous mistake, we must make right_

_Return the Earth to glory true_

_As words of cold we must undo._

 

He dropped out of the incantation as the six continued their recitation in unison. Then, he lit the candles which had been lain in a ring upon the tree. As he looked at those who were about to undertake this journey, at least part way with him, he saw the way their auras, ones he’d never seen before, encapsulated them.

Satomi’s wolf shone a deep red; it’s eyes strong and graceful. The yellow of Mrs. Bhardwaj’s made her look slightly taller, but the shape remained that of a woman. Yet, it conveyed gentleness and courage the motto by which she lived her life everyday. Morrell had a tree stretching tall into the air above her. Naturally, it was green; it felt ancient and balancing. The indigo around Kira looked like a fox on the wind with lightning bursting from every line, and it was powerful, to be feared and respected. The black void around Lydia didn’t scare him like he thought it should, just felt finite. Jordan’s was that of the fire of life, renewing and youthful. Their eyes glowed white, and he knew it was time. He drank what remained in the thermos, every last drop.

As he took his place to stand in the center of the tree, handful of powdered herbs in his palm, he knew his aura would be icy white with a hint of blue, large and wise like Ottava, the Great Bear. He spared a glance over to Derek who stood there holding Kaisa, her face buried in his neck unable to watch. Good; it was better that way.

The powder crackled as it hit the flames, burning a motley of colors. He felt a jolt of energy flow through him in that moment, akin to the way his body buzzed when Derek’s father had touched his shoulder in the spirit world. It started off a simple tingle, but it grew, swelling within him like a great wave. Each nerve lit up, began to ache, began to burn. The power of the spark kept intensifying until he hurt so much he could scarcely breathe.

No, correction- he couldn’t breathe at all.

Terror coursed through his veins as his chest constricted, tightening like a python coiling around its prey. So much pressure, too much. His vision began to darken in places, going spotty and black, but he could see that the other six remained standing tall and showed no signs of distress. At least he could take a modicum of comfort in that.

But then... the pain took over his head, and he was sure that he was screaming even though he knew his mouth remained closed. He was supposed to maintain composure, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t. He clawed at his scalp as the voices of millions upon millions resounded in a cacophony in his mind. The laments of the dead as a result of that failed spell. They yelled at him, harsh words of hate for their deaths, tears for their lost loved ones, howled in fear. It was the worst noise he’d ever heard, and by far the most painful. Then…

Silence, and everything went black.

  
  
  
  


*******

  


The familiar haze of white smoke curled around his ankles as he walked. The ground beneath his bare feet felt warmer than he could ever remember it feeling. No longer did it chill to the bone the way it always had. In soil this warm, they could actually bury their dead if they wanted.

When the air around him cleared, he was not met by his old friend, and for the first time since he’d visited _henkimaalima_ that day years ago, he was afraid. Even that fateful day, he’d been greeted by the bear, _his_ karhu. And now- there was no one.

He wanted to cry for fear he’d given up his spirit guide in this quest to reverse the freeze, and that was a thought he found hard to accept. Maybe, he thought, maybe he was dead, as if that would explain why the world was empty. A cruel irony then.

As though drawn, much the way Jordan had been to the nemeton, Stiles pressed on, journeying farther into the world than he’d ever been. Behind him, equally far in the opposite direction, he knew was Tuonela, but he was not meant for there, at least not yet.

Limbo, perhaps.

He glanced down to see the ground give way to water, and he looked around him. This was a place from a deep memory. He couldn’t recall why he knew the place or why the scenery of trees with bright foliage of reds and oranges, with some greens and browns mixed in filled him with such a sense of déjà vu.

“Trinity Lake. We brought you here when you were very young, the last year before the freeze came. This was the final year trees lost their leaves, because the leaves did not return that spring.”

He spun around and stared into a face he could hardly remember anymore. “Äiti?” Looking upon her face, spectral as it was, he saw how alike they looked. Though her face was rounder, his with the stronger jaw and cheekbones, they shared the same nose, the same large brown eyes. Her skin was just as fair as his, and he swallowed hard, because gazing upon her once more, he knew that before long, Kaisa would look just the same, but with their father’s dark blonde hair instead of chestnut brown. And he would miss it.

“Kultaseni, you’ve grown.”

Tentative, he reached out his hand to touch her cheek. She felt warm, alive, and it broke his heart, because it meant he surely was no longer of the living. To the dead, everyone felt warm, themselves included. He needed to know.

“Am I dead?”

She reached out and touched the top of the bear head upon his own. “Not yet.”

He stumbled backward in shock. “I lied. I told her I’d come back.”

His mother sat down on the shore and patted the space next to her. “Kyösti, you have a choice. You’ve fought hard, served your town well, and no one would blame you if you stayed.”

“I’m sensing there is a but somewhere in there.”

Her smile was the one part of her he’d never forgotten. “You’re correct. There is. You have people who love and depend on you. Kaisa needs you.”

“I know, but...I failed her, Äippä. I promised I would always take care of her.”

She rubbed his knee. “And you did. You went far and beyond what any teenaged boy needed to do.”

“You saw that?” his shy laughter echoed around the still land around them.

“I did. I look in on you all from time to time. I’m proud of you. You can’t leave Derek so soon either. You’ve only just found each other. There is still so much life you both must build.”

A patch of grass next to him caught his attention, and he picked at it in distraction. He didn’t want to give up; he didn’t want that at all, but he’d been in a similar position before. The way back from death was so much harder and painful than he cared to remember. “Don’t be proud of me, Äippä. I’m not worth being proud of. I’ve done and said things I regret, and-”

“Kultaseni, we all have. There isn’t a person in any world that hasn’t.” She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

He couldn’t help it when he lay his head upon her shoulder. The action had always been a source of comfort in his life, and if he had to go back, there was no way he wasn’t taking the opportunity to experience it one more time. “Were you watching when Dad and I had that fight, our last fight? I hope you weren’t.” Her resigned sigh told him he hadn’t been so lucky. His throat grew thick with emotion; tears stung at the corners of his eyes..

“He knew you didn’t mean it.”

“But-” and he broke down sobbing, turning his face towards her, and cried into her neck. “How could that be the last thing I said to him? He died thinking I resented him.”

She pushed the pelt off his head and ran her hands through his hair. “Poor, Kultaseni.” He leaned into the kiss she placed upon his forehead.

“Son, have you been carrying around all that guilt for half a year? It’s no wonder you’ve ended up here.”

Stiles jerked his head up from his mother’s shoulder to see his dad wearing a smirk he seldom saw after his mother died. “Dad!” He was up on his feet before he could even draw a breath, throwing his arms around his father’s neck, almost knocking him over.

“Easy there, Kiddo. I’m old. Trying to kill me?”

Stiles barked a wet laugh into his dad’s neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those-”

His father took his face in his hands. “I want you to listen to me, and listen well. I deserved _everything_ you said. I wasn’t able to handle your mother’s death, and I left everything to you. Raising Kaisa was not your responsibility, and you did the best you could, better than you should have been able to do. That was my job, and I failed you. I failed you both. _I’m_ the one who should be sorry. I am; you have no idea how much.”

“I failed too. Kai- She lost an arm.”

His father wiped the tears from Stiles’ cheeks. “She’s nothing if not resilient. Stiles, she may have lost an arm, but she’s alive thanks to you.”

“No, she’s alive thanks to Derek. He’s the one that gave her the bite not me.”

His dad shook his head. “No, she’s alive because, at thirteen, you knew enough to know what a wet nurse was and where to find one in town. _Never_ forget that.”

He felt his mother grab his hand and pull him back to the water’s edge. “Tell me about this handsome husband of yours.”

“Mate,” he laughed.

His father clapped him on the back as he sat on the other side of him. “Tomato, tomahto,” he said as Stiles told them everything they’d missed.

After what felt like ages, he sighed, “How long do I have?”

His mother smiled. “Not long enough.”

Stiles nodded; he understood. “I have to go back?”

“You have to go back. When it’s truly your time, you’ll see us again. Now go, the road back is long and dangerous.”

  
  


*******

 

Derek looked on as Stiles absorbed the colored auras of the six around the nemeton and then, watched in horror as he collapsed, his body slamming into the wood. It seemed as once the colors joined his, the trance over the others was broken. Morrell had the sense about her to push the candles into the snow so Stiles didn’t catch fire, before Derek could even breathe, but once he inhaled, he was at Stiles’ side in an instant.

“Stiles! Can you hear me?” He shook his mate’s limp body trying to rouse him. “Open your eyes, please!” He heard Kaisa begin to sob, and his own body began to quake with fear and the all too familiar twinge of grief. “Please, don’t do this. Wake up, you gotta wake up.” He kept rubbing at Stiles’ exposed skin, anything to get him moving. Melissa pushed him out of the way and started what he recognized from the first aid posters in the school as CPR.

With each compression she made into his beloved’s chest, Derek felt his own heart stutter. Was this how his mother felt when- He couldn’t even allow himself to start down that road, because he knew once he did, there was no coming back from it.

Time slowed to a crawl as she worked, and he soon found himself with a lap full of frightened child. He hadn’t even noticed that tears of his own had begun flooding down his face until he buried his face in Kaisa’s hair, dampening it before long.

His whispered pleas for Stiles to come back went unanswered as Melissa backed up and wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand, shaking her head in resignation. He pulled Stiles’ body to his chest, and Kaisa threw herself onto his chest with great quaking sobs. “No, no, no, no. We didn’t get enough time. You can’t go. You can’t-”

Kaisa sat up, and he’d never seen the girl so angry before as she balled her hand into a fist and began pounding on Stiles’ chest. “You lied! You promised! You said you’d never leave! Oot valehtelija, Kyösti!”

Derek’s heart was being crushed in his chest, and he couldn’t fathom how his mother had survived this pain at all, let alone managed to function. He cradled Stiles’ body like it was precious, holding tightly to Kaisa with his other arm.

  
  
  
  


She wasn’t sure what had coaxed her from the safety of their territory that morning, but Talia had set off, early in the day. She didn’t even bother to shift out of human form, simply trekked down from the hills, through the snow and wind without stopping. For hours now, she’d been following the faint smell of her son that the wind had carried to her around midday. It was a sign; it had to be, because there was no other explanation for why her feet brought her to where almost fifty people had gathered in the woods. Arriving the exact moment she did, _had_ to be a sign.

She’d watched, eyes tight with maternal concern as the woman tending to the fallen young man atop a massive tree stump stopped working. She hoped to never hear any of her children sound as pained and broken as Derek did when he pulled the body to his chest, the body of his mate. Without even thinking, she pushed through the throng of people with one purpose in mind.

Get to Derek.

She knew how he felt, was feeling, would continue to feel for the rest of his life at the loss of his other half, because that’s what a mate was. With the mating bite, a wolf gave half of their soul to another, and to lose their mate meant to lose half of themselves.

She smelled immediately, the girl she understood to be Derek’s young beta, and Talia had to force herself to turn away and not dwell on the site of where another arm should have been, knowing she was partly to blame for the girl’s ailment. Instead, she knelt beside the inconsolable form of her son, taking his face in her hands.

“Mama,” and his voice sounded just as young and broken as it had when she’d found him holding his sister’s frail and lifeless body a decade earlier. He’d begun to pull away- No, she thought, he hadn’t. They’d pulled away from _him_ , and her most of all. “What are you- You said- “

She kissed his forehead. “Shhh, shhh. I know, and it doesn’t matter. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. So so sorry. I never wanted you to hurt like this. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

The sight of his tear-stained face, brows pinched together in grief, lip trembling broke her heart. As did the sound of the quaking break he took next. “Why does my heart hurt so much? Why does it feel like I’m being crushed?”

Unable to get the words from her lips, she wrapped him up in her arms the way she’d held him as an infant. Eventually, his sobs grew quieter, like he didn’t have the strength to keep crying. The sound of everything around them grew quieter, and something she never thought she’d feel again came from the South: A warm breeze. It swirled around them all, warming their cheeks, chasing away the biting chill of the cold.

A low rumble of chatter broke out among the group. Soon, Talia could hear droplets of water as snow melted off the topmost branches of the forest trees. She’d have shared in their joy if she wasn’t clutching the grief stricken form of her son at the moment. And then, the most welcome sound of all cut through the voices like a knife.

A breath, a desperate gasp, followed by a cough and an aching groan.

  
  
  
  


He’d imagined it; that was the only explanation. The madness was starting already, and Derek didn’t know what was worse, the loss of his mate, or the loss of his sanity so soon. Maybe it was both, but then a chilly hand, fingers rough and calloused, smelling strongly of herbs, ash, and ozone, reached out to stroke his cheek.

“Told you I’d come back.”

The shock to his system of first losing the love of his life and then regaining him, did a number on his heart, and Derek felt certain that, for a second there, he was having a heart attack, and yet- He couldn’t be bothered to care. Afraid that he’d close his eyes only to open them and see Stiles still gone, Derek didn’t dare blink. For several seconds that seemed to stretch for an eternity, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear or see anything other than Stiles’ pale skin. Pale but warm skin.

He pushed out from under Stiles’ head and where it had rested on his outstretched legs. He jumped off the nemeton and pulled his mate into his arms, spinning around in pure elation at having him returned to him, at for once, not having someone taken from him. He peppered Stiles’ face with kisses, held him tightly. Finally, he remembered to breathe and buried his face in Stiles’ neck as he let the comforting aroma of spice and smoke, blood and bone ash, of magic flood his sense of smell and set his wolf at ease. That sensation from only minutes before, the one that felt like he was being torn in half, had subsided and given way to a sublime feeling he couldn’t even describe except for with one word: happiness.

“Sorry I scared you. It was a rough way back, but I made a promise I couldn’t break.”

Derek didn’t want to let him go, but set him down so Stiles could scoop Kaisa up into his arms. He watched him smooth his hands over her hair, wipe the tears from her face. “Hiiroseni, lupasin tulla takaisin. Olen täällä; olen täällä.”

She smacked him hard in the chest many times over. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again! You promised, and you said you’d never leave!”

Carefully, as though she were fragile like an infant and not a nigh indestructible nine-year-old werewolf, Stiles set her feet back on the ground. Maybe it wasn’t so much like she was fragile, but precious. Derek could understand that. He felt the same way about both of them. Stiles knelt down and stared at her. “Mä tiedän. Anna anteeksi?”

He didn’t want to interrupt their moment, but there was something Derek needed to do. “Stiles? Do you have a minute?”

Stiles looked up at him, and the smile he gave Derek was blinding. The way his eyes lit up, the way the corners of his mouth drew up towards the sky brightened his face. It was dazzling, and he loved it. “For you? Absolutely.”

Derek intertwined their fingers together and helped him to his feet “There is someone who’d like to apologize to you and meet you.” He squeezed Stiles’ hand and, with his mate walking on shaky legs, he led him over to where his mother stood, anxious. He could smell how nervous she was. Before he could even break the ice, his mother beat him to it.

“I am so sorry for what my family did to you, what I said, how you were treated. I know words don’t mean much, but I will do everything I can to make it as right as I can. For you, and your daughter.”

Stiles licked his lips and beckoned Kaisa to come to his side. He put a protective arm around her shoulders. “Though I raised her and think of her like my child, Kaisa’s my sister.”

“Even still. What my brother did in the name of our pack was horrible. I just wanted to keep us safe, and instead I just pushed my son away to another pack. But you are all welcome any time you want to see us.”

Derek kissed Stiles’ temple. He knew anger still bubbled beneath the surface. Derek, too, felt a thrum of ire that would never fade. Some things just couldn’t be forgiven, but he could move past them. He was proud of his restraint. “Mother, this is Stiles, my mate. Stiles, Talia, my mother.”

His heart felt full to bursting when instead of shaking Stiles’ proffered hand, his mother hugged him, hugged them both. “And this, is Kaisa.”

“I’m a werewolf now. Look at my cool new teeth,” she said, baring her fangs with a growl.

“My, my. You are ferocious.”

Stiles laughed, and though forced, there was a hint of sincerity in it. “Don’t tell her that too much. She’s tenacious enough as it is.” He swallowed and nodded, licking his lips. “I’d love it if I could show you our town. Show you, once and for all, we are no threat to your pack, that we help others be better people. Even if who they were before, is something they wished they hadn’t been.”

Derek knew that with his last sentence he meant Allison and her father.

“But, though our town is good at forgiving people, I am not. Peter will never be welcome in my home. I hope you can understand.”

His mother nodded. “I hate how much I understand where you’re coming from. Believe me, I do.”

And then with a curt nod of his head, Stiles turned and walked to the rest of his family. Derek opened his mouth, about to explain away his mate’s behavior but stopped. What was there to explain? Stiles had every right to try and defend his family. “I’d like to say he’ll come around, but I know he won’t. He’s...I love him and think he’s amazing, but he doesn’t trust easily and once that trust has been betrayed, he doesn’t forgive lightly, if at all. Especially where Kaisa is concerned.”

She lay a hand on his shoulder. “No, and I wouldn’t expect him to. If you’d managed to defend Cora and that feral alpha still lived, he wouldn’t have been welcome in our territory either.” She kissed his forehead. “I’d like to see your home now, get to know your pack, get to know you.”

He furrowed his brows. “I don’t-”

“Derek, I don’t think I’ve known you in ten years. I want to know the man you’ve become.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnish used in chapter:
> 
> Tulen takaisin; lupaan.- I will come back I promise.  
> Muistatko mitä mä sanoin?- Do you remember what I said?  
> Sano se.-Say it  
> Sä tuut olemaan okei; sä lupasit.- You’ll be okay; you promised  
> Niin; mä tein.- That’s right; I did.  
> Äiti- Mom, mommy  
> Kultaseni- pet name akin to my dear, my sweet, sweetheart  
> Oot valehtelija, Kyösti- You’re a liar, Kyösti (Stiles)  
> Hiiroseni, lupasin tulla takaisin. Olen täällä; olenn täällä- My little mouse, I promised I’d come back. I’m here; I’m here.
> 
> Mä tiedän. Anna anteeksi- I know. Forgive me?


	11. Thaw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRACK LISTING:
> 
> “Changing Seasons”- Sea Wolf

Exhausted and having journeyed through the night--because no one could even think of sleeping, too high on adrenaline and promise of things to come--the weary residents of Beacon Hills and Derek’s mother made their first steps out of the woods. Soon, they would come upon the familiar road that would lead them home. Even running on fumes, each person’s steps looked a little lighter, and perhaps it was the warmer air.

Stiles didn’t know how long it would take for them to see much change, but he knew the spell had worked. He could feel it, could feel in his bones the way the worlds were balancing out. Beside him, Derek carried Kaisa on his hip while she slept against his shoulder. Stiles couldn’t ignore the way the tightness of constant guilt had smoothed out in his mate’s face. The self-loathing Derek carried upon his shoulders had begun to chip off, and it was as though he had hope for the first time in a long while.

Stiles stalled his pace to place a kiss to Derek’s temple, letting his hushed words of ‘I love you’ brush against his skin, and he reached down to squeeze his hand as they walked. 

It would not be long now until they came upon the ridge that looked out over all he’d known for so long. 

Once there, everyone stopped and, astounded, gasped as they looked out over the ocean. What had once been a great expanse of white for as far as any of them could see, now showed cracks. Water had even begun to lap up onto the snow-covered sheet of ice. 

The morning sun always struck the hillside to the North of town. It showed the same trees as it always did, but at the bottom, where it leveled out to the flat land that eventually would meet the dock, hundreds of tiny blades of grass and shoots of what would become flowers had poked up through the snow. The thaw was a beautiful sight.

The anticipation of change that hung in the air was a welcome one. Things could be better. They  _ would  _ be better.

Maybe some things already were.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on [Tumblr](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not With a Bang, But a Shiver (art)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847469) by [captaintinymite (augopher)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite), [rmn_werefoxes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmn_werefoxes/pseuds/rmn_werefoxes)




End file.
